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NO NAME SERIES, 


THE COLONEUS OPERA CLOAK. 


4 


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NO NAME SERIES. 


“Is THE Gentleman Anonymous? Is he a great Unknown?” 

4 

’ -Daniel Deronda, 


THE 


COLONEL’S Opera Cloak. 



BOSTON: 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 

1905. 



r 


lIbRAHY of CONGRESS 
Two Cooles Received 

MAY 31 I90r 

A Cooynsrht Entry 
/?(c^ 3f, f<^cy 
XXc., No. 

/^v ns^ 

COPY 8. 


Copyright^ 

By Roberts Brothers. 
1879. 



THE 


COLONEUS OPERA CLOAK. 


INTRODUCTION. 

r HAVE no hero ; I have no heroine. A 
^ story without either seemed so shabby, 
and incomplete a thing that I looked carefully 
over my old men and women, my young men 
and maidens, not omitting the small boys. 

Colonel St. John was tall and handsome, — 
** a perfect specimen of a Southern gentleman,” 
his wife said. But, having never met the Col- 
onel, I could not make him my hero. 

Mrs. St. John was handsome, slender, and 
languid. How she did hate the North I She 
was not to my fancy, so I would not have her 
for my heroine. 

Dear little Leslie, the Colonel’s niece, — I had 
half a mind to choose her. But she never 
saved a life, and never wrote a page for a mag- 
azine, not even “ Lines to E. S. L.” She never 
attended lectures, nor revelled in ‘‘ the True, 


6 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 


the Good, and the Beautiful ; ” and, if the truth 
must be told, she spelled quite indifferently. 

There was Tom Douglas, the Doctor’s son, 
who fell in love with Leslie. If he had but 
fallen in love with Miss Gertrude Henderson, 
the handsome heiress, and followed her abroad, 
what a hero and heroine they would have been ! 
In that case, what descriptions I might have 
given of foreign parts, — of cathedrals and of 
palaces ! I could have made them wander in the 
grand old galleries, and talk about the pictures. 
I should have known exactly what to say; for 
haven’t I a pile of my cousin’s old guide-books, 
from which I could extract the height and 
width of every thing, as well as though I had 
taken measurements myself ? And Tom could 
have made love in Westminster Abbey or the 
Bois de Boulogne. But, dear me, he fell in love 
instead with that foolish, shiftless little Leslie. 

If I had been satisfied with a good, noble, 
unselfish man, I might have chosen Pomp ; but 
Pomp was only a colored man, a “ nigger,” an 
old slave, who clung through thick and thin 
— very thin — to his master’s family, and got 
nothing in return. Only the angels would call 
Pomp a hero. 

Dr. Douglas would not do, of course : there 
was nothing romantic about the Doctor. He 
dosed the St. Johns among his other patients, 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. ^ 


and got no return for the little bills he pre- 
sented, — that was all. “What impudence in 
him to send these things ! ” said Mrs. St. John, 
when the Doctor’s collector appeared. “ How 
these Northerners show their poor raising ! ” 

The Doctor’s wife would not answer. Her 
affairs were settled thirty years ago, when, in 
white muslin and blue ribbons, she met the 
young doctor at a college commencement. Be- 
sides, she spent her time in seeing that her 
Tom should not become Leslie’s hero ! “ Leslie 

is a dear, sweet little girl,” she would say, in 
that disparaging, maternal tone well known to 
eldest sons ; “ but for a wife, — I pity the North- 
erner of whose home she is mistress ! ” Then 
Tom would ask, in a cheerful tone of disinter- 
ested inquiry, “ Is there any Northerner who 
wishes to marry her } ” 

There was Bessie Douglas, Tom’s sister ; but 
Bessie was not pretty enough for a heroine. It 
is so much easier to have a pretty heroine. No 
matter what silly things she may say or do, the 
reader does not wonder at the hero’s falling in 
love with her. A plain girl has to utter such 
brilliant things, to satisfy the public ! 

There was a troop of little St. Johns, — 
Arthur, Wilfrid, and Clarence ; but they looked 
so much alike, and were so tangled up, wearing 
each other’s clothes indiscriminately, that this 


8 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 


small band of brothers would have filled the 
office of hero to overflowing. 

“U'ith so many grown-up white ladies and 
gentlemen on hand, it would hardly have been 
respectful to take Pomp’s grandson as hero, 
although his name might well have suggested 
the choice, — “John Jasper Jackson.” Jackson 
was not his last name, — he had none: it was 
only one of his names. Jackson John Jasper, or 
Jasper Jackson John, answered just as well. 

There was Mr. Cavello ; but I knew so little 
of Spaniards, — I only knew Mr. Cavello, — and 
so little of Spanish, — only “ Senor ” and “ San 
Salvador,” — and so little of Spanish affairs,— 
only a few items about coffee and sugar planta- 
tions and cigarettes, — that I hardly felt equal 
to using Mr. Cavello. 

But there was a being — I may call it that, 
because it had being — which often warmed and 
clothed the St. John family ; which was with 
them by day and by night, in pleasure and in 
sorrow ; which delivered them from dire dis- 
tresses by land and sea ; which neither ate their 
food nor spent their money ; which did not 
smoke, nor play, nor drink, like the Colonel 
This being I have chosen for my leading char 
acter. Enter 

The Colonel’s Opera Cloak, 


THE COLONELS OPERA CLOAK, 9 


CHAPTER I. 

1 ITTLE Ned Douglas was fired with an 
^ earnest desire to possess a certain scarlet 
and gold “ Pilgrim’s Progress,” which had been 
shown to the admiring eyes of the children in 
his Sunday school, as a reward to the one who 
should bring in the largest number of new schol- 
ars. Ned had determined to win the prize. 

Strange to say, the “ new scholars ” whom 
Ned secured were all short of clothes. One day 
he appeared, flushed and excited, at the dinner- 
table, demanding three hats, a purple necktie, 
two pairs of shoes, and a few handkei chiefs. 

“ Have you lound a boy with four feet, three 
heads, a few noses, and only one neck ? ” asked 
Tom. 

“ No ! ” cried little Ned, indignantly : “ there 
are three boys, and one is black. He 's a friend 
of the white boys, and they live in his house. 
I played with them in the park one day, and 
they are all splendid ! They used to be rich, 
and now they are poor. I guess they are poor,” 


10 THE COLONEL'^ OPERA CLOAK 


he added, rather doubtfully, because they said 
they ’d all come to Sunday school if I ’d get them 
shoes and hats and handkerchiefs ; and the little 
black boy wanted a purple necktie. But they 
have splendid jack-knives, and they eat candy all 
the time, and chew Jenny- Lind gum ! Their 
mother lets them do it,” and little Ned looked 
reproachfully at his mother. 

The new acquaintances were soon provided 
with clothes, and they entered the school the 
next Sunday. 

“Isn’t it queer.?” said Ned, some time after 
this. “ Those splendid boys used to live in the 
South, and they were as rich as kings, and had 
lots of slaves. One of them said that we got his 
slaves away. I told him ’twas no such thing. 
I told him that you and father used to live in 
the South, but you didn’t touch their slaves. 
Arthur — he ’s the biggest boy — says his mother 
is sick, and wants you to come and see her. 
She said she hadn’t seen a real lady for a year.” 

“ Isn’t it papa she wants to see, if she is ill ? ” 
asked his mother. 

“ Oh, no, mamma, it is you ; and she wants 
you to come quick. She says she’ll come to 
church some day, maybe.” 

Mrs. Douglas went the very next day, provided 
with the address on a card. She was sure when 
she reached the house that Ned had made a mis- 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. II 


take ; for it was in a fashionable part of the 
city. 

She found a handsome residence, with high 
steps, on which two dirty white boys were play- 
ing with a little black boy who was not so dirty. 

“Does Mrs. St. John live here.?” asked Mrs. 
Douglas. 

“ Yes, ma’am,” said one of the boys, rising and 
taking off his hat. “ Won’t you come in ? ” 

“ I ’m Ned Douglas’s mother. Are you the 
St. John boys ? ” she said, smiling. 

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the little fellow who 
had already spoken. “ Mamma wanted to see 
you very much. She ’s away from all her friends 
here, and Ned said you’d lived South. Get up, 
you varmint ! ” he added pleasantly to the col- 
ored boy, “ and see if the bell will go.” 

The little chap rattled the knob, which had 
evidently parted company with the bell, and 
pounded on the door with his fists. 

“I’ll tell you what to do, Jasper,” said one of 
the boys : “ you crawl into the basement win- 
dow, and run and open the door.” 

The little fellow was soon heard tugging at 
the lock from the inside. After repeated efforts, 
the door burst open, and sent him sprawling on 
his back upon the hall floor, like a little turtle. 

“ Dat ain’t no kind of a do’, Missus,” said he, 
picking himself up, and rubbing his head: “it 


12 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


keeps a say in’ it won’t open, an’, jus* as yer 
b’lieves it, out it hits an’ sends yer slambang ! 
Dat door’s jus’ like my gran’fa’ : ’pears like he’s 
never goin’ to lick yer, no matter what yer does ; 
an’, fus’ thing, he fetches yer a cuff, an’ over 
yer goes.” 

While Jasper was thus moralizing, Mrs. Doug- 
las looked about to see if the parlors were acces- 
sible. Hearing a noise above, she involuntarily 
glanced up, and saw the dark sallow face of a 
man, and as much of his body as could be safely 
balanced over the banisters, and heard a child’s 
giggle. 

At that moment, a moist little pellet struck 
her cheek. Then followed a scuffle, a slap, 
‘‘You nasty boy! ” and the slamming of a door. 

The front door was too securely closed, or she 
would have retreated. 

Just then a black man came up the basement 
stairs, and bowed respectfully. 

“Can I see Mrs. St. John?” asked Mrs. 
Douglas. 

“Yes, Missus, if yer will have de goodness to 
wait one moment whiles I opens de parlor do’. 
De knob, I sees, is off,” he said, as calmly 
as if it was quite usual for knobs to step out on 
business. 

He vanished into the back parlor, where a 
murmuring conversation was soon heard. 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 1 3 


The sliding-door groaned, and evidently ran 
off its track. Then with a flourish, as if he had 
that instant heard of the arrival there. Pomp 
opened the front-parlor door. 

Such a parlor ! The shades were drawn to 
the highest point, the lace curtains were tied 
in knots ; and, raising her eyes to the frescoed 
ceiling, Mrs. Douglas saw that her unseen friend 
of the spit-ball had not aimed his first at her, — 
no, nor his twenty-first. 

There was a pair of cavalry-boots under the 
piano, and a pan of molasses-candy on top of it. 
A bowl of broth stood on the centre-table. The 
chair which Mrs. Douglas took refused to hold 
her ; and the sofa was as comfortable as a seat in 
a coal-bin, the springs being broken and twisted. 

Pomp retired into the back parlor to inform 

Missus ” that the lady was in the other room. 

The rustle of silk was now heard, and the 
beating of pillows. No word was spoken ; but 
Mrs. Douglas was conscious of the pantomime 
which was directing Pomp as he squeaked about 
the apartment. ^ 

• At last, he appeared at the sliding-door, which 
had refused to close behind him, and asked her 
in, with, “Mrs. Douglas — Mrs. St. John.” 

In a bed, in one corner of the finely furnished 
room, Mrs. St. John half-sat, half-lay. She mo- 
tioned Mrs. Douglas to a chair, which the poor 


14 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


lady tested with her hand before seating her- 
self. 

Mrs. St. John was a young and very hand- 
some woman. She wore a lilac silk waist, with 
a lace shawl thrown over her shoulders, fast- 
ened with a diamond pin. Mrs. Douglas saw 
the skirt of the lilac waist over a chair at the 
head of the bed : it only accompanied the lady 
on walking excursions ! 

Mrs. St. John was very languid. 

“ You can’t tell how glad I am to see some 
one who has lived South,” she said, in a low, 
drawling voice. These Northerners are so ill- 
bred. I hate to have my boys associate with 
them, — it ’s so bad for their manners. I see 
the difference in them already. I believe it’s 
in the air. 

“ The war made things very hard for the Col- 
onel. He fought and fought ; and the North- 
erners stole every thing they could lay their 
hands on. Why, the officers, generals and all, 
would steal the rings off our fingers ; and they 
grudged us every mouthful we ate ! I was very 
young ; I was married during the war ; but I 
saw enough of it. Why, one of your generals — 
the head one, I reckon — tore the ear-rings right 
out of a lady’s ears I The Colonel lost all his 
slaves, and I lost all mine, except Pomp : he 
knew what was good for him ! The ungrateful 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 1 5 


things, — to clear out, after we had fed and 
clothed them for generations ! 

“ The Colonel had heaps of money stolen by 
your men. He owns heaps of land in Texas 
now, where there are lead-mines ; but he can’t 
get much money out of it at a time, and so Pomp 
has to keep things going as best he can. It’s 
very different from the good old days. 

“The Colonel brought us all here, and then 
went out to his old mines. I 'm so much younger 
than he, he ought to stay at home and look after 
me. I was only sixteen when I was married. , 

“ The last time the Colonel was at home, he 
brought back a Spanish gentleman, Mr. Ca- 
vello, to visit. He met up with him in New 
Orleans. The Colonel said he wanted to see the 
city, and that he was a good friend of his. He 
goes to his club to meals. 

“I think,” continued Mrs. St.John, — whose 
slow words knew no pause, — “I think the 
Colonel has had money of him, or he’d never 
be so polite to him.” 

“ Do you know any thing about him ? ” the 
Doctor’s wife ventured to ask. 

“ Oh, he ’s what he says he is, ■ — as rich as can 
be ! He tells about his niggers and his planta- 
tions, and he has good diamonds. I wish he ’d 
take a fancy to the Colonel’s niece, — it would 
be a good thing for her. 


l6 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


** I never am very well/* she went on. " I like 
to lie down, — it 's so much easier than to sit up. 
It 's so cold here that I never can keep warm 
out of bed, and hardly in it. — Pomp ! Pomp ! ’* 
Mrs. Douglas had seen Pomp through the 
door, nodding in one of the red satin chairs. 
He started on hearing his name. 

“ Pomp, my feet are cold ! Bring me the 
Colonel’s opera cloak.” 

Pomp began a search. He looked in the closet 
and behind the chairs, and finally went on all 
fours under the bed, whence he triumphantly 
emerged, with a large blue cape, lined with scar- 
let, with shining gilt clasps at the neck. 

“Oh, I was telling you about Leslie,” said 
Mrs. St. John, after Pomp had tucked her feet 
up, and settled himself for another nap. “ I wish 
I could marry that girl off to some rich North- 
erner. She says she likes them. She ’s seven- 
teen now, and over. When the summer comes, 
I mean to get her a lot of new dresses, and 
take her to some fashionable resort for a month, 
to see if I can’t get her off. She has no mother, 
and I must do my duty by her. I wish to mercy 
Mr. Cavello would take a fancy to her ! ” 

There was a silence. Mrs. Douglas was 
horror-stricken. 

The Doctor’s wife feared that Mrs. St. John 
expected her now to take her turn, in revealing 


THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. I? 


all the Doctor’s weak points. Disappointment 
awaited her. Why, Mrs. Douglas only called 
them “the Doctors ways,” to herself. 

But no, Mrs. St. John was only taking breath 
to go on with her own affairs. 

“ Pomp ! Pomp ! call Miss Leslie.” 

Pomp opened the door into the hall, when 
mstantly there was a scampering and scuf 
<iing. 

“ Yer unmannered boys, hain’t yer got no 
’ligion, to make yer act like gent’men } Don’t 
yer know de Bible, — ‘’Member yer fader an’ 
moder to keep ’em holy ! ' Peekin’ frou de do’ 
at de strange lady, actin’ ’s ef yer was raised 
Norf ! ” 

Leslie St. John, having been summoned by 
Pomp, came shyly into the room. Mrs. Doug- 
las took to her at once. No one could help 
it, she was so sweet. She drew the girl toward 
her and kissed her, although she had only meant 
to shake hands ; and Leslie loved her from 
that minute. 

“This is the Colonel’s niece, that I was tell- 
ing you about,” said Mrs. St. John. “She’s an 
orphan, and hasn’t a cent. Well, I hope the 
Northerners are satisfied, when they see the 
poor starved orphans they made.” And Mrs. St 
John looked severely at Mrs. Douglas, as if she 
had personally been upon the war-path. 


1 8 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


Leslie hung her head ; she did not fancy being 
exhibited as a representative Southern orphan. 

The door now opened, and the boys rushed in. 

“ Mamma,” cried one of them, “excuse me for 
interrupting you, but we must have a new foot- 
ball at once.” 

“ Arthur, you shall not have one cent ! I ’m 
going ^to buy coal this time ! It’s a very poor 
way,” she added, turning to Mrs. Douglas, “ to 
get it every few hours in a basket. Jasper for- 
gets it, and the furnace gets lo\>.” 

“ I want a foot-ball, too,” said little Clarence, 
slipping round to the bed-side. “ Arthur never 
lets me play with his.” 

“ Look a-here. Missus,” interposed Jasper, with 
wide-open eyes, “ Massa Clar’nce don’t no more 
need dat foot-ball dan he needs anoder foot. Dem 
little ten cent toss-balls is good enough for sech 
a little boy as Massa Clar’nce.” 

“’Tain’t neither,” replied Clarence, aiming a 
blow at Jasper. 

“ Where is that last foot-ball gone } ” said 
Mrs. St. John, languidly. 

“ It ’s burnt up. Missus,” said Jasper. 

“ Who burnt it } ” 

“ Nobody ain’t burnt it but de furnace. Missus. 
Massa Arthur he put it in de coal-hod when he 
got frou playin’, an’ I didn’t see it, an’ petched 

into de furnace.” 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. ig 


“Yer ought to 'er looked,” said Pomp, in a 
sharp tone, joining the group around Mrs. St. 
John, which by this time suggested the death- 
bed of Luther. *‘Yer ought to ’er looked to 
see ef de foot-ball was in de hod ! you ’re drefful 
keerless. I ’s’pect some day you ’ll frow de silver 
teapot, what’s got Missus’ great-grand-moder’s 
name on to it, into de furnace.” And Pomp cast 
a sidelong glance at Mrs. Douglas. “ Yer must 
be more keerful to allers look in de hod : yer 
burnt up one of my bes’ shoes t’other day, yer 
knows.” 

“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. St. John, fretfully, “do 
go away : you want to kill me, I know. Here, 
Arthur, take this twenty-dollar bill, spend five 
dollars for all of you, and bring me back the 
change.” 

Before long, Jasper returned, and laid a bill 
on the bed. 

“ I want — I want — let me see,” said Mrs. 
St. John : “ why, I want fifteen dollars, and 
here’s only five.” 

“ Why,” said Jasper, his eyes starting out 
white and round, “ yer said how ’t every one on 
’em was to hev five dollars. Massa Arthur an’ 
Massa Wilfrid dey got foot-balls an’ knives an’ 
heaps o’ things, an’ Massa Clar’nce kicked ’em, 
in de store, an’ hollared, an’ dey had to buy 
him things.” 


20 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


** That 's just the way those boys act since they 
came North,” said the poor lady, feebly shaking 
her head. 

Pomp had been nodding again in the satin 
chair. He roused himself at JaspePs voice, and 
came into the room. 

“ I ’se gwine to market now, Miss Marie,” said 
he to Mrs. St. John, “ an’ I wants five dollars, ef 
yer pleases. Ef I don’t go now, I ’specs yer ’ll 
give Massa Cavello a foot-ball next, an’ den 
dare won’t be no mouf-balls for to eat when de 
dinner-time comes.” 

Mrs. St. John handed him the money. 

“Now you’ve got the last cent, Pomp, and I 
hope you ’re satisfied ! ” she said. 

“ Ef I could ever git de fust an’ de middle 
an’ de las’,” said Pomp to himself, “ I reckon 
things wouldn’t go so contr’y as dey does now 
in dis house.” 

Mrs. Douglas was uneasy. What sort of a 
woman was this ? Who were these people ? She 
rose to go. Mrs. St. John begged her to come 
in often. 

Leslie sat in the shadow. 

“ You must come and see me, my dear,” said 
Mrs. Douglas, turning to her. 

“ Do you really want me to come ? ” asked the 
girl, brightening. 

“ Leslie ! ” said her aunt, in such a tone that 
the girl blushed painfully. 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAH. 21 


“ Certainly I do,” said the Doctor’s wife. “ 1 
shall look for you next week.” 

During the call, Mrs. St. John had mentioned 
a friend of the Colonel’s, — Frank Merriam, — 
whose wife Mrs. Douglas knew. As soon as 
she reached home, she seated herself and wrote 
to her friend ; — 

“ Dear Mary, — Did you ever hear of a 
Colonel St. John.? Who is he.? Where is he.? 
Where did you hear of him .? Did you ever see 
Mrs. St. John .? They have hired an elegantly 
furnished house on Margrave Street, which now 
has the air of an auction-shop, — no, that is feeble, 
— nothing less than an earthquake, assisted by 
chain-lightning, could have wrought such changes ! 

They evidently walk on the ceiling ; the 
colored servant sleeps in the red satin chairs ; 
they spill broth over the Moquette carpets, and 
leave molasses candy pans on the piano. Every 
thing is done that ought-ttot. to be done, and 
nothing is done that ought to be done. 

“ They take presents of shoes from the Sun 
lay school, and spend fifteen dollars 07 ue for 
foot-balls and other toys. 

“ There ’s a Spaniard visiting in the house, 
whom the lady dislikes very much. 

“ Do have instant mercy on my curiosity, and 
let me hear from you.” 


22 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


She soon received the following reply : — 

“ Dear Louise, — I have heard of Colonel 
St. John. When } A few years ago, soon after 
our marriage. Where ? At Saratoga, — where 
else does one hear of people } Where is he } 
Everywhere. Who is he.? He’s Colonel St. 
John. 

“I have asked Frank for particulars. He 
says they belong to one of the first Southern 
families. The Colonel is perfectly respectable, he 
says, — only rather pompous and ‘ high-toned.’ 

^‘They are poor, having lost every thing in 
the war, except land of the Colonel’s, some- 
where in the South or West. Frank says he 
lives by selling a piece now and then. There 
is supposed to be a lead-mine, and it is really 
believed to be valuable, so that he may be well- 
off some day. 

“I don’t know about the Spaniard. Frank 
says they have a pretty niece : have you seen 
her.? 

“Frank sends word that you must not forget 
to mention their doings whenever you write. 
He went to their house once. The chain-light- 
ning and the earthquake had been there also ! 

“ 1 saw the Colonel once at the opera. He 
looked very picturesque. He wore a cloak lined 
with scarlet, which gave him a gay, cavalier 


I'HE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 23 


air. I wanted Frank to buy one, — being roman- 
tic in those days, — but he said he would sooner 
see himself in a gray shawl, pinned at the neck, 
like old Mr. Simpson, — do you remember ? 

“ I wouldn’t have written to a soul but you 
to-day, for I have such a cold that I dare say 
my b’s are all p’s. and my m’s are all b’s. Tell 
as more.” 


24 THE COLONEL 'S OPERA CLOAK. 


CHAPTER II. • 

"DESSIE DOUGLAS was longing to see 
the St. Johns. Mrs. Douglas’s account 
of her call had amused Bessie and her friends, 
Miss Wentworth and Gertrude Henderson, very 
much. 

“ Why can’t we have Leslie to tea } ” asked 
Bessie. “What do you suppose she’d wear? 
Perhaps her aunt’s silk skirt, — perhaps the 
cavalry-boots you saw in the parlor.” 

“ Perhaps the red cloak which Mrs. Merriam 
saw on the Colonel, and which I saw on Mrs. St 
John,” said Mrs. Douglas, laughing. 

When Leslie was invited to the Doctor’s to 
tea, she was delighted at first, and then her 
spirits sank. 

“ O auntie,” she said, “ I can’t go. My dress 
isn’t nice enough.” 

“ I ’ll lend you one of mine,” said Mrs. St 
John, “it will fit you well enough, I reckon, if 
you pin the waist over. You can have this lilac 
silk, if you want it.” 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 25 


There was a black and white checked silk 
which Leslie would rather have had, but she 
knew better than to ask for it ; so she took the 
one offered her, and tried to be thankful. 

“Yer doesn’t feel happy, does yer, honey ” 
said Pomp, as he pinned her collar for her, on 
the day of the visit. 

No, Pomp. I would really rather stay at 
home than wear this waist, but Aunt Marie 
makes me go.” 

“ What would yer have, ef I could find it foi 
yer.?” asked Pomp, as though he was a good 
fairy, able to give three gifts for any three re- 
quests. 

“Well, Pomp, if I could have that little red 
India shawl, I could cover up this waist ; but I 
don’t dare to ask for it, and, if you do, she won’t 
give it to me.” 

“ Oh, yes, she will!” said Pomp, confidently, 
as he vanished into the back parlor. He rum- 
maged the bureau-drawers and the wardrobe, 
until Mrs. St. John fretfully inquired, without 
laising her eyes from her French novel, what 
he wanted. 

“ I ’se lookin’ for Massa Clar’nce’ new shirt,” 
replied Pomp. “ I never see how shirts does 
act, gittin’ into all sorts o’ places I Ef Pd made 
clo’es, I ’d a gin ’em ears, so dey ’d come when 
dey was called. Here yer am!” he cried tri- 


26 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


uniphantty, shaking out something. “ I thought 
I ’d find yer, — none so deef as dem dat won't 
hear.” And Pomp “ wobbed ” the shawl into a 
white garment and hurried it out to Leslie. 

Leslie could not remember what she had done 
with her hat ; and, as it was nearly dark, she said 
she didn’t mind, she ’d wear Clarence’s. 

Pomp looked at her admiringly as she set it 
jauntily on her pretty head. Then he wrapped 
the opera cloak carefully around her, and gazed 
after her until she turned the corner. 

Leslie had never seen any of the family, ex- 
cept Mrs. Douglas, and hardly dared to ring 
the bell and face them all. 

As she hesitated on the steps, a young man 
came up and put a latch-key in the door. He 
knew in a moment that this odd-looking girl was 
Leslie St. John. 

“Have you rung. Miss St. John.^^” he asked. 
“ I know you, for my sister told me you 
were coming to tea.” 

“I haven’t rung,” said Leslie, dropping her 
eyes. That was a bad habit, Tom thought, for 
such pretty eyes. “ I was waiting a minute to 
get courage. I don’t know your sister.” 

“ You ’ll know her soon,” said Tom, feeling at 
once as if he were protecting Leslie. “ She ’s 
easy enough to get acquainted with. You know 
my mother? ” 


THE COLONEL^S OPERA CLOAK. 2J 


“Yes,” replied Leslie, “and I think she’s 
lovely. She was so kind, to invite me. I ’ve 
never been out to tea before in my life.” 

What a time it had taken to fit that latch- 
key ! 

At the opening of the front door, Bessie came 
into the hall. 

“ Oh, how do you do } ” said she, so cordially 
that Leslie at once felt at ease. “ Did you let 
her in, Tom?” 

“Yes, it was me. 

With my little key, — 

I let her in,” 

said Tom, smiling. 

“ Oh,” thought Leslie, “ what a handsome' 
fellow, and so kind and witty and elegant ! ” 

She went into the parlor, but felt very timid 
when she saw two fashionable young ladies sit- 
ting cosily on the sofa by the fire ; but she 
laughed when Bessie introduced her. 

“ Nobody ever called me Miss St. John before, 
except your brother, on the steps. I forget whom 
you mean : couldn’t you call me Leslie ? ” 

“ I could, and I will,” said Bessie. 

Grace Wentworth made room for Leslie be- 
side her. Gertrude Henderson looked her over : 
Leslie felt her eyes, and was uncomfortable. 

Miss Henderson did not say much. She leaned 
back in her corner, and looked into the fire, hold 


tS THE COLONEHS OPERA CLOAK. 


ing her delicate hand before her face. How hei 
rings shone and glistened ! 

Grace Wentworth and Bessie and Leslie were 
quite well acquainted by the time the tea-bell 
rang. 

Tom came in then, and Leslie noticed how 
Miss Henderson’s manner changed. She was 
no longer listless : her eyes brightened, and she 
laughed and talked, so that Tom had only a 
chance to smile and nod to Leslie. 

When they returned to the parlor after tea, 
before the gas was lighted, Gertrude Henderson 
played for them. Tom was on the sofa next to 
Leslie, who had seated herself in the corner. 

“ How do you like her playing ” he asked, 
leaning toward her, while the others were calling 
for their favorite pieces. 

“ Oh, it is splendid,” said Leslie, “ only we 
ought to have lights, blazing lights, and every- 
body should be dancing and wear gay dresses, 
and there should be long mirrors everywhere to 
make it brighter and gayer.” 

“ Exactly ! ” said Tom, looking at her with his 
handsome smiling eyes, — “that’s exactly Ger- 
trude’s music. I wonder how you ’ll like Grace 
Wentworth’s ! ” 

Tom did not talk any more to Leslie after Miss 
Henderson ceased playing. He and Gertrude 
seemed to talk for all the rest. She was very 


THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. 29 


amusing, and Tom teased her. Leslie wondered 
how he dared to do so ; but Miss Henderson 
seemed to like it. The others listened and 
laughed. 

After a while, Grace Wentworth played ; and 
Leslie was enchanted. 

“ Do you like that > ” asked Tom. 

“ Oh, I do, I do,” said Leslie : “ that’s just the 
kind I always knew I ’d like. I never heard it 
before. I want to shut my eyes and forget 
every thing.” 

‘‘And everybody.?” asked Tom. “Can’t I 
speak to you again .? ’ 

“ Oh, I didn’t mean that,” said Leslie, quite 
shocked at her seeming rudeness. “ I only 
meant that this was the sort of music for the 
dark and quiet times. Do you like it .? ” 

“ With all my heart,” said Tom. “Don’t you 
sing .? You look as if you did.” 

“ Oh, yes, I sing for myself, and for Pomp, and 
to put Clarence to sleep, and for Mr. Cavello — 
sometimes.” 

“ You don’t sing Mr. Cavello to sleep, do 
you .? ” asked Tom, laughing. 

“ Mercy, no ! ” said Leslie. “ I reckon you 
don’t know who Mr. Cavello is.” 

“ Can’t you add me to the list of the people 
you sing to .? Come, Grace is through ; ” and 
Tom took her hand to lead her to the piano. 


30 THE COLONEHS OPERA CLOAK. 


Oh, I don’t play a bit,” said Leslie, drawing 
back ; “ I only sing. I ’d rather sing here in the 
corner.” 

Oh, do sing,” said Bessie and Grace, who 
had been listening : “ we like the voice alone.” 

What queer singing it was ! The room was 
perfectly silent. Every one listened. Her voice 
had a sweet, far-away sound. 

‘^The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds,” 
Tom said to himself. 

She sang to a swinging, chanting sort of 
air, — 

“ There was a little white cloud in the sky, 

I saw it float and float : 

I said I will take it for a sign 
Of my own dear sailor’s boat. 

If the little white cloud shall safely sail 
By the black cloud rack in the West, 

I know my lad will come sailing, sailing 
To the lass his heart loves best. 

And the little white cloud, it safely sailed 
By the black cloud rack in the West, 

So I know my love will come sailing, sailing 
Tc the lass his heart loves best.” 

"Another! another!” cried Bessie. "Your 
voice is lovely. Don’t you think so, Gertrude } ” 

“Yes,” said she. “With whom did you study, 
Miss St. John ? ” 

“ I never studied at all, except when I went to 
Miss Paynter’s boarding-school, and then I didn’t 
learn much,” said Leslie, laughing. “ Her niece 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 3 ^ 


came over from England, and she taught me my 
songs. I had a fever when I was there, and she 
took all the care of me, and was so kind ! She 
used to sing to me half through the night, — it 
was better than medicine. She ^ang anothei 
song that I like.” 

“ Oh, do sing something else,” said Grace and 
Tom at once. 

The door-bell rang violently. 

“ Why do people have door-bells ! ” said Bessie, 
impatiently. 

A strange voice was heard in the hall. The 
door opened to admit the visitor. Leslie shrank 
back into the shadow. 

Mrs. Douglas recognized the sallow face of 
the gentleman who had balanced himself over the 
banisters the day she called on Mrs. St. John. 

The lights were low, and the Doctor turned 
them up. 

“I am Mr. Cavello,” said the stranger, stand- 
ing in the middle of the room and bowing. 

Mrs. St. John, she has sent me to have Miss 
Leslie home.” 

“I told Pomp to come for me,” said Leslie, 
from the dark corner. 

Mr. Cavello turned toward her eagerly. “Your 
aunt needed Pomp, Miss Leslie.” 

“ Then why didn’t the boys come ? ” she asked 
“ I told Pomp to send them, if he was busy.” 


32 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


“Myself wanted to come,” said Mr. Cavello, 
standing near her, and looking straight into her 
eyes, as if no one else was in the room. “ I 
wanted to come.” 

“ I ’m not going now,” said Leslie, turning her 
head away almost rudely. 

Mrs. Douglas, to break the awkward silence, 
introduced Mr. Cavello to the young ladies, who 
were quite ready to be diverted by this addition 
to their circle. 

Leslie slipped away to the other sofa, and 
seated herself by the Doctor, with a little smile 
which said so plainly, “ May I ? ” that the good 
Doctor shook up the sofa pillow, and said, “ Cer- 
tainly, my dear, — certainly.” 

Then Tom came, and asked her about her 
songs, and she brightened in spite of the dark 
looks which Mr. Cavello sent toward her, and 
Miss Henderson’s open endeavors to entice Tom 
to her side. 

Soon Mr. Cavello was absorbed in Miss Went- 
worth’s playing, and offered to sing a Spanish 
song with the guitar ; and he showed Miss Hen- 
derson the accompaniment, “ turn, turn, turn ; ” 
then the minor chord, “la, la, la, la, la.” — “ You 
see how it runs.” Then he wrote the words 
for Miss Wentworth, who was delighted with 
the air. 

It was charming music. Mr. Cavello’s voice 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 33 


was rich, and the dainty tinkle of the guitar 
seemed like the sound of far-off water. 

Miss Wentworth said that, if she shut her 
eyes, she could see a Spanish girl dancing in the 
sunshine, with a rose in her hair and a lace scarf 
flying. 

“ Miss Leslie, she can dance to my music, and 
make a \ rettier picture to your open eyes,” said 
Mr. Cavello, turning toward her. “ Come, Miss 
Leslie, you have a red shawl there.” 

The color faded from Leslie’s cheeks ; her 
pretty enthusiasm was gone. 

“ I cannot dance to your music, Mr. Cavello,” 
she said. “I’m not a Spanish girl, — I don’t 
know how.” 

The girls begged her to dance ; but she shut 
her lips tightly and shook her head, and they 
saw that it was of no use to urge her. 

While Mr. Cavello was tuning the guitar, the 
bell rang furiously again, and the hall was filled 
with boys’ voices. The little St. Johns had 
arrived in full force ! 

“ Mrs. Douglas,” said Arthur, coming forward 
in his graceful way, “ Pomp sent us for Leslie.” 

“ But I am come for her, too,” said Mr. Ca- 
vello. “You may go back” — A third ring 
drowned his words. A servant hurried to the door. 

“ Is Massa Cavello here t ” said a funny little 
voice. “ Is Massa Arthur here, an’ Massa Wil* 


34 the COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


frid here, an* Massa Clar’nce here, an* Miss 
Leslie here?’* And Jasper appeared at the 
parlor door. 

“ Who sent you here, Jasper ? ’* said Arthur. 
•Go home ! ** 

“ My gran’fa’ told me to come an* see ’f yer ’d 
minded him, to come fur Miss Leslie. He 
s’pected yer ’d done gone off to de theatre, an’ 
forgot Miss Leslie; an’ she said how’t she’d 
never go home, never, if Massa Cavello corned 
<^ur her.” 

Well, we did come,” said Wilfrid ; “ but 
we ’re going home, and Mr. Cavello is going to 
take her back.” 

^‘My gran’fa’ said how’t Massa Cavello warn’t 
fur to take her home,” said Jasper. 

“Go home yourself, and tell Pomp to mind 
his own business,” said Arthur, shutting the 
parlor door in Jasper’s face, and quietly seating 
himself, as if nothing had happened. 

“ Please go on with your music. I ’m very sorry 
to have interrupted you, ladies,” he said. 

“ Oh, dear ! ” whispered Leslie to Tom, who was 
still by her. “ Oh, dear, I am so, so sorry ! Your 
mother will never invite me here again. I ’d 
rather have gone with Mr. Cavello than to have 
had them all act so.” 

The boys sat quietly for a while, and then, see- 
ing that this was no party, and that no ice-cream 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 35 


was forthcoming, bade the family good-night, 
and ran out without one word to Leslie. 

The girls were delighted with the new music, 
and begged ]\Ir. Cavello to give them anothei 
song 

Tom took Leslie into the back parlor to show 
her a picture he had been telling her about. It 
was a bit of clover-field ; and in a cleared place 
in the foreground two little fairies, with pale 
blue wings, were “ teetering ” on a blade of grass 
thrown across a strawberry plant. 

Leslie was pleased with it. 

“ The lady who painted that dreamed it first, 
I know,” she said. 

“But it wasn’t a lady, at all,” said Tom: “it 
was a young man, a friend of mine, — Bob 
Simpson. He lives abroad now. I wish I 
could show you his pictures. They are very 
funny, — many of them. He ’s making money 
fast. Funny pictures sell, — people like to be 
amused.” 

“ I think I should get tired of a funny pict- 
ure,” said Leslie. “ I couldn’t laugh very long 
at it. I ’d rather borrow one, and send it home 
again. But I don’t know any thing about pict 
ures, as you do.” 

“Do you remember Hamon’s ‘Autumn,’ or 
the ‘ TwUight ’ ? ” asked Tom. 

“ No,” said Leslie. She did not like sentences 


36 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


beginning, “ Do you remember ? ” or “ Do you 
know ? ” 

“ They are dainty little things. I know you 'd 
like them. I ’ll bring you the photographs some 
day,"’ he went on. 

How delightful ! So there was to be a " some 
day ” to look forward to. 

Neither of these young people was saying any 
thing remarkable ; but they were very much in- 
terested in what they said. Tom was handsome, 
and was making himself agreeable to the dark, 
slender girl, who looked at him with shy admir- 
ing eyes. He liked that better than any fine 
thing she could have said ; and she would not 
have exchanged him for the most learned man 
in the world. 

“If you don’t join us soon,” said Gertrude 
Henderson, looking in and shaking her head at 
Tom, “ I ’ll punish you ! I ’ll sing ‘ Silver threads 
among the golden,* or ‘ Taking the year together, 
my dear,’ or ‘ O father, dear father, come home 
to us now.’ ” And she looked so handsome and 
spoke so bewitchingly that Leslie wondered how 
he could help going to her. 

“ Or ‘ Darling, kiss my eyelids down,* ” said 
Bessie, coming in and laughing. 

“ I can kiss my own eyelids down very well, 
thank you,” said Tom. “ If you ’ll find some dar- 
ling to kiss them up for me in the morning, I ’ll 
be much obliged to you.” 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 37 


Why don’t you go back ? ” said Leslie. “ I 
am taking too much of your time, — you are so 
kind.” 

“ I 'm never kind. I am always selfish, and 
please myself,” said the young fellow, looking 
down at her. “ I stay here because I like to. 
I don’t believe Mr. Cavello thinks I ’m very 
kind.” 

When little Jasper^ was shut out of the parlor, 
he had seated himself at the back of the hall to 
enjoy the music ; and, lulled by it, and soothed 
by the warmth from the register near him, he 
nodded off to sleep. 

Suddenly he awoke. The music had ceased. 
The opera cloak and a little hat hung on the rack 
beside him. He rubbed his eyes, and remem- 
bered where he was. Forgetting that he had 
run off bare-headed, he snatched the hat from the 
peg, threw the well-known cloak about him, and 
dashed past the open parlor door at full speed. 

Mr. Cavello looked over his shoulder. The fly- 
ing cape caught his eye, and at the sound of the 
closing door he sprang from his seat, caught his 
coat and hat from the hall table, and “ slam ” 
went the door behind him. 

None of the others had seen Jasper’s flight, 
and so they were all wonder-struck at Mr. 
Cavello’s sudden departure. 

“ Perhaps there ’s * Spanish leave,’ as well 


38 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 


as ‘French leave/” said Bessie. “Perhaps he 
couldn’t bear to say good-by: some people 
can’t.” Then she burst out laughing. It was 
certainly very funny; and Grace laughed, and 
they all laughed until the tears ran down 
their cheeks. 

Tom and Leslie came from the back parlor to 
share the fun. Mr. Cavello was gone, and the 
family were crying with laughter. No one could 
explain. 

“ Mr. Cavello ” — said Bessie, and went off into 
another spasm. 

“Mr. Cavello” — said Grace Wentworth, and 
then words failed her. 

“ Of all your attendants. Miss Leslie,” said 
Tom, “ I am the only one left. You ’ll let me 
go home with you, when you go, won’t you } ” 

“ Thank you,” said Leslie ; “ but I ’m ashamed 
of all this trouble. I must go now.” And she 
bade them good-night, and went with Bessie 
into the hall. The opera cloak was gone, — so 
was Clarence’s hat ! They sought them every- 
where in vain. 

“ Perhaps the boys took them,” said Leslie. 

“ No,” said Tom, “ I saw the boys go out. 
Mr. Cavello, perhaps } ” 

“ No,” said Bessie. “ His hat was on the 
table. He caught it on the wing.” 

The cloak and hat were nowhere to be found. 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 39 


So Bessie lent Leslie a pink cloud, — oh, how 
prett}'’ she looked in it ! — and a heavy shawl, 
and Tom opened the door. 

There stood Pomp, his white eyes shining. 

“The boys ain’t come home, nor Jasper ain’t 
come home, an’ I was afeard Miss Leslie wouldn’t 
come with Massa Cavello, so I come along my- 
self.” 

They told him of the disappearance of the 
cloak and of Mr. Cavello. 

Pomp shook his head : it was too deep for 
him. 

“ Now you ’ll have just the escort you wanted,” 
said Miss Henderson’s smooth voice ; but Tom 
said he must go too, to see that every thing was 
right. He tucked Leslie’s hand in his arm, 
much to the delight of Pomp, who ambled on 
behind, proud of his darling’s conquest. 

Mr. Cavello had seen Leslie leave home at 
dusk, arrayed in the opera cloak and Clarence’s 
hat ; and so, when the flying red cape caught his 
eye in the Doctor’s hall, he thought the girl was 
iblipping away from him with his rival, and, his 
hot blood rising, he flew after her. 

He had hardly run a block, when he saw that 
the cloak was worn by a boy, and that boy, John 
Jasper. Jasper was running at full speed ; but, 
hearing quick steps behind, he turned and saw 
Mr. Cavello making after him. 


40 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


Terror lent him wings, and on he rushed. 
What could Mr. Cavello want but to shake him } 
And that was what Mr. Cavello certainly did 
want. 

Up and down and through narrow streets Mr 
Cavello chased the little black boy, who dodged 
and hid, and finally fled into a dark alley and 
eluded the enraged lover. 

“ I ’ll break every bone into his body,” said Mr. 
Cavello, when I do catch him ! ” But he did 
not catch him ! 

As he reached the steps of the St. Johns' 
house from one direction, Tom, Pomp and 
Leslie approached from the other. They hung 
back until he had gone in ; and then little Jas- 
per appeared, out of breath and panting, and told 
how Mr. Cavello had chased him, and he “ hadn’t 
done nothin’.” Jasper wore the cloak and hat, 
and so it was all explained ; and Tom was able 
to clear up the mystery for the ladies on his 
return. 

Leslie said she should love the Colonel’s opera 
cloak for ever, because it had saved her from 
Mn Cavello’s escort. 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 4 1 


CHAPTER III. 

had met Leslie many times in the street 
since the tea-party, and had walked home 
with her. He thought her the very sweetest 
girl he had ever seen, but he reflected that often 
before he had met “ the very sweetest girl,” and 
then had changed his mind. “ But this is differ 
ent,” said the young fellow to himself : “ she 
seems to belong to me, somehow.” 

He called on her one afternoon to give her the 
photographs he had promised. “ I have some- 
thing else,” he said. “ My friend John Acker- 
man, who paints so beautifully, has the nicest 
wife ! I ’ll take you there some day.” What, 
another “ some day,” thought Leslie. “ I took 
tea with them the other evening, and she gave 
me two little poems about these very pictures, — 
they are favorites of hers, it seems, — and I have 
brought them to you. Do you care for verses } ” 
“ Yes,” said Leslie, “ I like just to say my songs 
over for the sake of the words. And does Mrs 
Ackerman paint, too ? I wonder if she loves to 


42 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


make pictures and poetry? I wish you’d ask her 
Bome time. I don’t know anybody who makes 
poetry. I ’m so sorry in the spring and summer 
that I can’t say how lovely it is.” 

She doesn’t call this poetry : she said they 
were rhymes,” said Tom. 

I ’d like to paint,” said Leslie ; “ only I ’d 
have to paint splendidly, I suppose, to enjoy it.” 

I don’t know that. I know an old fellow in 
town who paints — I couldn’t say horribly, for 
the drawing is pretty good, and I ’ve seen worse 
color; but the very thing that ought to be 
there isn’t there. His landscapes never make 
me feel 

* I have been here before, 

But how or when I cannot tell.* 

His portraits never make me say 

* As if her image in a glass 
Had tarried when herself had gone.* ’* 

Leslie thought Tom was making it up, quota- 
tions and all, and she listened with admiration. 

“ Do people buy the old man’s pictures ? ” 

“Oh, once in a while, — often enough to keep 
him from starving. He lives behind a green 
baize screen in his studio, which is a forlorn little 
room, close under the roof. He cooks his own 
food, and mends his own clothes, and sleeps in 
some kind of a sofa thing, which he makes up at 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 43 


bed time. The artists feel sorry for him. They 
help him along ; and they love him, too, for his 
enthusiasm. He thinks next year and next year 
he’ll be a great painter.” 

“ Isn’t it strange,” said Leslie, “ that he has 
such enthusiasm for an art he has no genius 
for ! ” 

“Ackerman says he has talent for business, 
but he ’d rather starve, as a painter, than earn a 
good income in any other way. He has a patient 
look on his face that is very touching, — poor old 
Thompson ! I bought a picture of him once, and 
gave it to a hospital. I hope it didn’t harm any 
of the patients. I’ve wondered whether each 
picture disappoints him, or whether he only thinks 
the world is dull at recognizing genius.” 

Leslie was touched by this description. 
“ Where does he live } ” she asked. “ I ’ll get 
Uncle to buy some pictures of him, — they’d 
do for us; — we don’t know as much about 
pictures as you do.” 

“ They wouldn’t answer for you,” said Tom. 
“ You are so quick to see beautiful things that 
they would vex you all the time. You would 
know a good from a bad picture, I am sure.” 

Leslie was delighted with the praise. “ Well, 
if we didn’t like his landscapes,” she said, 
“ Uncle might have the boys’ portraits taken, 
and mine.” 


44 the colonel^ S OPERA CLOAK, 


“ Heaven forbid ! ” said Tom ; and then he 
laughed to think of the simper which Thompson 
would invent for Leslie’s mouth. “ He must have 
known Susan Fields sometime, I think. I went 
to school to her when I was a little chap. She 
wore a long curl behind each ear, and she used 
to snap me on my head with her thimble. The 
art-instruction she gave me was that, if I wanted 
to make a face smile, I must turn the corners of 
the mouth up ; if I wanted a desponding expres- 
sion, I must turn them down. What stuff ! ” said 
Tom, bursting into a laugh at the recollection. 

“ Your friend Mr. Ackerman gets a great deal 
of money for his pictures, I suppose,” said Les- 
lie : “ he paints good portraits, doesn’t he ? ” 

“Perfect,” said Tom. “I’d like to have him 
paint you. He asked me if he might do so for 
the Exhibition ; but I shouldn’t like to have 
your face there, for people to make their 
idiotic comments on.” 

Tom stopped. What right had he to Leslie’s 
face ^ 

“ Why, when did he see me } ” asked Leslie, 
in surprise. 

“ One day when we were walking. He wants 
you to come to his studio.” 

“ What could he want me for in a picture ? ” 
said Leslie. “ Doesn’t he know Miss Henderson ? 
She 's splendid, I think, — she ’s so handsome.” 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 45 


Tom couldn’t help laughing. Ackerman 
wanted a face for the line, 

“ I never loved but ain.’* 

Gertrude Henderson ! she would be a model 
for di genre picture, in a long-trained French dress, 
looking over her shoulder into a mirror, or chirp- 
ing to a parrot in a dainty boudoir. 

“You haven’t read the verses,” said Tom. 
“ Do you see } This young lady in the picture, 
with her hand over her eyes, is Miss Autumn, 
killing the flowers. The young gentleman 
behind is Indian Summer, giving them another 
chance.” 

“ I like this,” said Leslie, reading : — 

* The foolish leaves, who long to follow 
The southward flitting of the swallow ! ’ ” 

“ I like to play that flowers and leaves are alive, 
and know all that we do, and are sorry and glad, 
and have friends, and all that.” 

“ Mrs. Ackerman’s cousin married Simpson, 
who painted the fairy picture you liked,” said 
Tom. 

“ And does his wife paint, too 1 ” asked little 
Leslie, pitifully. Did all the ladies Tom knew 
play and paint and write poetry, she asked her- 
self. 

“ No, she is only bright and helpful to have 


46 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


about,” said Tom. “ Simpson calls her ‘ Daily 
Food.’ ” 

“ That ’s a very nice name to be called,” said 
Leslie. What does Mr. Ackerman call his 
wife ? ” 

“ I don’t know, — Mary, I believe. They don’t 
do their love-making before people, as the Simp- 
sons do. But Ackerman was glad enough to 
get his wife. I know they had a very romantic 
story. Mrs. Simpson told it to me.” 

“I wish you’d read this aloud to me,” said 
Leslie, holding out the verses : — 

High up, upon the windy hill, 

Swingeth a little Wild-rose still : 

None had been seen for many a morn 
Till the chill hour when this was born. 

It swingeth east, it swingeth west, 

It has no time for idle rest, 

For never hath a Wild-rose seen 
The world in aught save summer green, 

And Sumach clump and Maple bough 
With autumn’s fires are burning now. 

To share the Rose’s lucky lot, 

Blooms the last blue Forget-me-not ; 

And these two marvel much, I wis. 

To see such wondrous sights as this, — 

Like drifts of rain-clouds through the sky 
The birds at eve go hurrying by ; 

The bright leaves flutter on the wind. 

As ill content to stay behind, — 

The foolish leaves, who long to follow 
The southward flitting of the swallow ! 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 47 


At eve came Autumn to the hill, 

Where swung the little Wild-rose still, 
Where bloomed the blue Forget-me-not 
Beside it, in a sheltered spot. 

Like morning mist they saw her pass. 

Nor stepped she on the crisp brown grass. 
The West Wind met her coming down, 
And flew to bear her trailing gown, 

Within whose folds the Summer’s fair 
Last flowers she bore with tender care, — 
The purple Aster wet with dew. 

The Goldenrod and Feverfew ; 

And gathered spears of golden wheat 
From brown wild grasses at her feet. 


She droops her head with plaintive grace 
To hide her tearful eyes and face, 

As deeming that an evil hour 
Which marks the blighting of a flower. 
Then on the little bloom of blue 
A hollow golden cone she threw. 

And on the Wild-rose, freshly blown, 
Another little golden cone. 

She lays her hands across her eyes. 

Nor waits to hear their parting sighs. 


As in the sunshine sails the mote, 1 
See Indian Summer idly float — 

A baby summer, sweet and fair — 
Delicious languors on the air 
And keen, fresh odors from the field 
A silvery mist the meadows yield 
To veil the hills no longer fair. 

And throw o’er all a dreamland air. 


48 THE COLONEHS OPERA CLOAK, 


His golden rod with certain sway 
Uplifts the golden cones away. 

“ I ’ve slept,” said little Rose, “ and what 
Did’st thou, my dear Forget-me-not ? ” 


A little child went singing by, 

In childish treble clear and high, 

“ Sweet is the day the Lord was born, 
And sweet the resurrection morn.” 
Clearer and clearer trilled her voice, 

“ ’T is the Lord’s day, let all rejoice ! ” 
She took the path across the hill, — 

“ Forget-me-not and Wild-rose still ? 

O joy ! The mill-maid need not go 
Without the flowers she longs for so.’* 

The little maiden in the mill 

Lay on her bed so white and still, — 

So white and still, she well might seem 
A moonlight maiden in a dream. 

“ Forget-me-not and love’s own red ! 
The Lord hath sent them me,” she said. 
When the last light had left the west. 
The dead flowers lay on her dead breast. 


"Now read the other,” said Leslie. "It is 
lovely to know the story of a picture. Does 
its name mean twilight, did you say ? ” 

Tom read on. What is more delightful than 
an audience of one, when that one is a pretty girl 
with soft, dark eyes } 

Tom looked up once in awhile to see if Leslie 
was listening. 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 49 


Before thr little candle’s light 

Had showed the darkness of the night, 

When slowly home, in full content, 

The cows through herby pastures went, 

The little herd-girl saw a sight 
Which filled her with a strange delight : 
The grassy hill rose black and high 
On the pale background of the sky ; 

There like a fire of glowing red 
The scarlet Poppy waved its head ; 

There, when the air was dead and still, 

In village streets below the hill, 

The little breezes danced all night, 

And frolicked in the still moonlight. 

She saw, as in a magic boat. 

The Spirit of the Twilight float ; •?' 

Clear on her brow, she saw the fair 
White star of evening gleaming there , 

Her fluttering mantle folded tight, 

To cheat the chilly dews of night. 

A North Wind, fiercely rushing there. 

Had sought to bear her through the air ; 

He caught her in his rude embrace. 

And showered wild kisses on her face 
Then came an East Wind, sweeping dowa 
From wearied sick folk in the town ; 

He tore her mantle wide apart. 

And strove to chill her glowing heart. 

A West Wind to her rescue flew. 

But what could he between the two ? 

A wind in silence from the south 
Laid tender kisses on her mouth. 

Her trembling limbs he closer drew, 

Round her his warm, strong arms he threw 
And, folded in a close embrace. 

With heart to heart and face to face. 

They floated till the black of night 


4 


50 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


Had shut the star -gleam from her sight 
The little maiden, shy with awe, 

Told not her mother w'hat she saw ; 

And, when the next morn shed its gleam, 
She smiled, and thought it all a dream. 

A painter, sketching in the shade, 

Held converse with the little maid, 

And from his glowing colors drew 
This picture, beautiful as true. 

With quiet face and earnest eyes. 

The child looked on in still surprise. 

So w'onderful a thing it seemed 
To paint the colors she had dreamed. 

Then one who loved the picture well 
Sought in a simple rhyme to tell 
(As tints reflected in a pool) 

The story of La Crepuscule. 


Oh, what a voice Tom had ! It was made on 
purpose to read poetry with, Leslie thought. 

She pinned the photographs on the wall of her 
room, and learned the verses by heart. 

Some time after this, Tom took Leslie to the 
studio. It was in Mr. Ackerman’s house. Oh, 
such a beautiful house ! The doorways were 
curtained, and there were china plates on the 
wall. That almost made Leslie laugh. The 
furniture had tiles set in it, and it was painted 
beautifully, and looked just as if it belonged 
to the house, — as indeed it did. Mr. Acker- 
man had designed every piece. 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 5 1 


Leslie had never been in a studio before, and 
she was delighted with the old furniture, the rugs 
and tapestry, the vases, and all the odd things 
which made up the orderly disorder. 

And Mrs. Ackerman was so lovely, — no, not 
lovely, — so charming. She took the young girl 
around the room, and told her about the pretty 
things, and made her forget herself altogether. 

She “gauged” Leslie, as she called it, with 
a little portfolio of pictures. Leslie nodded as 
she turned them over, and said, “ That ’s lovely ! ” 
or “ Oh, how pretty ! ” At last, Mrs. Ackerman 
came to a picture of a wide plain without a tree. 
On the far horizon the great moon was rising. 
A shepherd followed by his flock was going 
toward the moon. There was very little color in 
the picture. 

“ Oh ! ” said Leslie, with a long-drawn sigh ; 
and she looked up with brightening eyes at Mrs. 
Ackerman. 

There was another, of a barren shore, with a 
flock of birds flying away off toward a little sun- 
light which gleamed through the gray clouds; 
and one, of a pure sky, and apple-trees in blos- 
som. These were Leslie’s favorites. 

While Mr. Ackerman was showing Leslie his 
old-fashioned costumes, Mrs. Ackerman took 
Tom into her cosey corner. 

“ She is sweet and sincere, "she said. “ I hope 


52 THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. 


you ’ll bring her again. I covet her face for one 
of John’s pictures. I tested her with my gauging 
portfolio, and she bore it bravely. It was a pleas- 
ure to see the child divine the best things ; and 
she has never seen pictures, you say } ” 

“ No,” said Tom, “ but she seems intuitively 
to choose the best in every thing.” 

Does she } ” said Mrs. Ackerman, laughing. 
Tom wanted to kiss her, he was so grateful to 
her. Leslie little knew why he sang his friend’s 
praises all the way home. 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 53 


CHAPTER IV. 

winter passed on, enlivened by various 
events in the family on Margrave Street. 

“What about the St. Johns now.?” was often 
the question, at tea-time, at the Doctor’s. The 
St. Johns were always getting into trouble ; and 
they dragged the Douglas family into it, in one 
way or another. 

The boys “ made believe ” go to school, but 
played truant half the time. Work of any sort 
was not for the noble young scions of a house of 
the “ Chivalry.” U ntil a royal road to learning was 
discovered, learning was relegated to “muckers,” 
as these young gentlemen styled the Northern 
boys. 

Living in the streets as they did, it was little 
wonder that they made strange acquaintances. 
A great lazy fellow, seeing how freely they threw 
away money, once urged them into a partner- 
ship in a pop-beer and peanut stand. When 
Leslie found it out, she cried ; but Mrs. St, 
John laughed. It struck her like a prank of 
young princes. 


54 the COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


“They’ll only lose money. They won’t make 
a cent,” she said, as if the only harm could be in 
making money. 

Arthur St. John complimented little Ned 
Douglas by confiding to him some coarse yellow 
and green handbills, with instructions to ride in 
the different horse-cars, and to hand the bills to 
the passengers and throw them from the windows. 
He was to spend his own money for fares, and 
take his pay in pop-beer and peanuts, so the 
“ pardner ” suggested. 

The stand was in one of the business streets ; 
and “Jim Kelly” turned many a penny, while 
the St. John boys had only the excitement and 
the peanuts. 

Tom saw his little brother one day standing 
on a corner, giving away handbills. He took 
him by the ear, and walked him into a doorway. 

“You little villain ! ” said he, reading one of 
the bills, “ what are you up to } Didn’t I tell 
you not to play with those St. John boys, nor to 
go to their house ? ” 

“ You go there yourself,” whined little Ned, 
wriggling out of his big brother’s clutches. “ You 
go to see Leslie yourself ! The boys say you do. 
But Mr. Cavello ’s going to take ner away. She 
won’t have you ! Let me go ! ” 

“ What do you think mother will say to you ? 
I fancy that the spanking days are not over yet. 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 55 


my young friend/’ said Tom, with unnecessary 
fervor. “ Come with me ! ” 

Tom made Ned give the handbills to Mr. 
Kelly, of the pop-beer stand, and paid him a 
quarter for the peanuts the young “ drummer ” 
had taken out for pay. 

“ Let me see your license ! ” said he. 

The big fellow was scared, and confessed that 
he had none. 

“ If this isn’t shut up to-morrow, I ’ll see you 
in court, my friend,” said Tom. 

When the St. Johns, with mouths prepared for 
peanuts, joyfully repaired to the corner the next 
morning, the stand, the boy, the pop-beer, pea- 
nuts and handbills had vanished like a vision of 
the night. 

One day Pomp appeared at the Doctor's, with 
a large tray containing a Southern breakfast, 
— hoe-cake, hominy and bacon. 

“ Missus sends her compl’ments,” said the old 
fellow. “She ain’t very well. She’s an infidel 
sometimes No, not ’zackly an infidel, neither. 
She gits well mostly when dare ’s new dresses, 
or suthin’ goin’ on, or de Colonel comes home. 
I cooked dis on purpose for yer.” 

Pomp had brought the waiter through the 
streets uncovered, with the Colonel’s opera cloak, 
which was hooked round his neck, flapping its 


56 THE COLONEL OPERA CLOAK. 


led wings on either side as he walked, like a great 
flamingo. 

Bessie wondered how they had lived before the 
St. Johns came to enliven their dull days. The 
Southern breakfast was set on the sideboard foi 
Tom, as a sample of what Leslie’s husband would 
have to eat. 

“It’s about time for another scene,” said Bessie, 
one afternoon. “ I wonder what they ’re getting 
up now ! ” 

One morning, not long after this, Leslie came 
to the house, all trembling and tearful, to see 
Mrs. Douglas. 

Clarence was lost ! He had taken his breakfast 
about ten o’clock the morning before ; for Leslie 
remembered stepping over him as he was eating 
it on the stairs. They hardly wondered when 
he didn’t come in to dinner ; but when tea-time 
came, and no Clarence, the family were alarmed. 

Pomp had gone out and asked everybody he 
met ; but nobody had seen Clarence. He went 
to a policeman, who said the boy would probably 
be at home by the time he got back. “ Lost boys 
are always found at home,” he said. Leslie haa 
sat up all night, and Pomp had been to all the 
police stations, and her aunt was almost crazy ; 
and wouldn’t Mrs. Douglas please, please come 
10 see her } 

Mrs. Douglas was very sorry for them. They 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 57 


were so shiftless that she yearned over them: 
so shiftless that it was pathetic. 

She hurried on her bonnet, and went with 
Leslie, first sending little Ned with a note to 
Tom’s office. 

In a short time, Tom appeared at Mis. St 
John’s, with a morning paper. He had just 
seen this item : — 

“Yesterday, toward night, a man discovered 
the body of a child in the water, by a lumber 
pile near Libby’s Wharf. It was that of a 
boy about nine years old. He was apparently 
dead. His clothing was not marked. He wore 
a mixed gray suit, odd shoes and stockings. One 
was a man’s stocking marked with a stencil, the 
name nearly illegible. It looked like Cavetto. 
The boy wore a long blue cape, lined with red, 
fastened with gilt clasps. It had probably 
buoyed him up when he fell through the ice. 
He was taken to the City Hospital.” 

Mrs. St. John went into hysterics. Mrs. 
Douglas and Pomp had their hands full with 
her. 

Tom and Leslie set out for the hospital 
Leslie wanted to run, but Tom called a carriage. 

She sat in the superintendent’s office while 
Tom made inquiries. He came back in a min- 
ute, smiling. 

“ The little scamp is alive ! ” he said. 


58 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


Leslie caught his hand and kissed it over and 
over, much to the embarrassment of the little old 
gentleman, with a plaid neck-tie, who sat at the 
desk, his stiff white hair parted behind, and peep- 
ing over each ear as if to spy what he was writing, 

Tom took Leslie to Clarence, and then rushed 
back to carry the good news. 

Clarence was cross. He wouldn’t let Leslie 
kiss him. 

“ What did you put me here for 'i ” he asked 
faintly. “ I don’t like this big bedroom. I ’d 
rather be home when I ’m sick.” 

“My darling!” said Leslie, with tears in her 
eyes, “ I have come to take y6u home. I didn’t 
put you here. O Clarence, why did you run 
away.^ Aunty is sick : she thinks you are dead. 
Mr. Douglas has gone home to tell her that you 
are alive, and to make her well. Didn’t you 
know you ’d been almost drowned ” 

“ No,” said Clarence. “ Was I ? I knew I went 
skating. I ’ve been asleep for a good while, and 
when I woke up I was afraid, here. I thought 
maybe I was dead, and this was the way they 
did in heaven.” 

The doctor said Clarence must not be moved 
for a day or two, and that Leslie might stay with 
him all the afternoon. 

Leslie held his hand, and whispered stories » 
to him, and hummed her songs so sweetly 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 59 


and softly that Clarence soon fell into a deep 
sleep. 

Tom made Bessie laugh at dinner. “ Mrs. 
St. John was like the affectionate mother of the 
' Lost Heir/ ” he said. “ She got on her dignity 
at once when she found Clarence was not dead, 
and said she shouldn’t speak to him for a week 
for giving her such a fright, and she should 
write to his father to have him put in the Reform 
School ; and he should be whipped well for this ; 
and that Leslie, who had nothing to do but to 
look after the boys, should find, to her cost, that 
this carelessness was not to be overlooked.” 

“ Wasn’t it funny,” added Tom, “ that ‘ O. C. 
St. John, Esq./ as Bessie calls the opera cloak, 
“ led to his discovery ? I forgot, for a minute, 
that the boy was supposed to be dead, and roared, 
when I saw that in the paper ! And there the 
cloak was, hanging over the hospital cot like a 
guardian angel with folded wings.” 

“And was it Mr. Cavello’s stocking he had 
on ? ” asked Bessie. 

“Of course,” said Tom. “My only wonder 
is that that family don’t invent some way to 
exchange heads.” 

As if it was not enough for Leslie and Tom 
to be in love, or on the way to it ; and for poor 


6o THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


Mr. Cavello to be tearing his hair, as it were ; 
and for Gertrude Henderson to be tearing, Les- 
lie’s, so to speak, — poor little Arthur must needs 
take his turn, and fall in love with Bessie, who ^ 
was five years older than he. He brought her ‘ 
presents, he made pretty little speeches. Poor 
Arthur ! He was a handsome, attractive boy ; 
but he could not “ tell time,” and he spoke of 
“ Hug Miller,” in the Game of Authors, to little 
Ned’s horror. 

One day he sent Bessie a parrot in a beauti- 
ful gilt cage, and a lovely turquoise ring. 

“ This is getting serious,” said Bessie, laugh- 
ing. “ The boy has taken to coming to church, 
and he glares at any one who speaks to me. I 
thought he ’d call Deacon Watson out for a duel, 
when he shook hands with me in the aisle.” 

Jasper appeared one day with a note from 
Arthur, spelled horribly, requesting Bessie to go 
to a “ concirt” with him. Jasper was to wait 
for an answer. He stood eating a russet apple, 
and holding a red one in his hand. 

“ What a beautiful apple you have there ! ” said 
Mrs. Douglas, amusing herself with the boy. 

“ Do you like red or brown apples "best ? ” 

“Well,” said Jasper, looking very solemn, as i) 
he had a most important question to decide, “ ) 
loves de brown best. De red apple is de putti- 
est ; but yer put yer teef into it, it squizzles up 


THE COLONEL^S OPERA CLOAK, 6l 


yer mouf ; but yer puts yer teef into de brown 
apple, an* yer keeps on puttin’ yer teef in. Dese 
red apples is like some folks, — dey charms de 
eye, but dere isn’t nothin’ in ’em! Dese brown 
apples, dey ’s. like oder folks, — dey ain’t so 
♦'marted up, but dey *s good inside.” 

Mrs. Douglas laughed outright. She remem- 
bered Jasper’s moralizing at the front door on, 
her first call at the St. Johns’. 

“ And do you like living in the North or South 
best ? ” she asked. 

“Well,” said the boy solemnly, “ as fur as water- 
millions goes, I likes de Souf best ; but as fur as 
de mince pie goes, dat you give me one day, I 
bkes de Norf best.” 

Mrs. Douglass sent for some mince pie imme- 
diately. Such a delicate hint and so fine a com- 
pliment must be rewarded. 

“ Do you ever go to school, Jasper > ” inquired 
Mrs. Douglas, while he was busy with the en- 
gaging pie, which had so endeared the North to 
him. 

“ Oh, yes. Missus,” he replied. “ I goes putty 
reg’lar. I draws picters in a book some days.” 

“ What sort of pictures ? ” 

“ Well, de teacher gives ’em to us. We ’s done 
de pumps an’ coffins, an’ now we’s on de wine- 
glass. I larns, too, about de speres, de moon 
an’ dc stars. De sun is a yeller ball, yer know, 


62 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 


an’ it’s ketched on to de globe wid a good strong 
wire, an’ de moon ain’t so big, an’ is white, an’ 
is ketched on wid anoder wire.” 

“ Do you understand about the real sun and 
earth and moon better, since you learned 
that ? ” 

“ What, Missus ? ” 

“ Do you understand that the globe is made 
like this world you live on, only a great, great 
deal smaller ? ” 

“ Oh, no. Missus,” said Jasper ; and then he 
added, rather surprised at Mrs. Douglas’s stu- 
pidity : “ We don’t live on de globe, yer know. 
We couldn’t, — ’tain’t no bigger dan dat,” circling 
his arms. “ Massy gracious ! my gran’fa’s two 
feet would cover de world all up, ef it wa’n’t no 
bigger dan a globe.” 

Then, feeling that he had exhausted Mrs, 
Douglas’s capacity in globes, he went on to 
arithmetic : — 

“ I larns, ef a boy hes five chestnuts in one 
ban’, an’ two chestnuts in de oder han’, how 
many chestnuts does dat boy hev } Onswer, 
seven chestnuts. 

“ Ef Mary hes seven apples, an’ Susan hes 
free apples, how many hes dey bof ’ togedder ? 
Onswer, ten apples. 

Ef John hes twelve alleys, — no, morbles, — 
an’” — He was evidently going straight down 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 63 


the page, when Bessie appeared with a note, 
and he rushed off. 

The next time Mrs. Douglas met Mrs. St. 
John, she said to her that she was afraid she 
did not know how Arthur was wasting his 
money. He bought such expensive presents for 
Bessie that it made them feel very uncomfort- 
able, and they must return them to him. 

'‘Oh, don’t !” said Mrs. St. John : “the poor 
boy would feel so bad ; and I ’m sure it ’s a very 
innocent way to spend money. I ’m only glad 
he had sense to buy things like that.” 

As the Colonel’s land had hung on his hands 
of late, he had had very little money to send 
home, and yet the boys had been more lavish 
than usual. Unfortunately, they had bought ice- 
cream, guns and parlor-skates instead of clothes ; 
and Clarence was now obliged to stay in for 
want of shoes. 

One day there was not a mouthful to eat in 
the house. The week before they had lived on 
“ turkey and tart, and on chine, chine, chine.' 
Pomp had now no meal to make a hoe-cake, — 
so “ they had to let the hoe-cake be.” 

The morning mail brought no check from the 
Colonel. Mrs. St. John was getting cross. 

“Come, Pomp,” said she, “ what are you going 
to do now } We ’ve got to eat, I suppose, if the 


64 THE COLONEL OPERA CLOAK, 


Colonel does think we can wait day after day for 
our meals. I reckon he ’s at a club, eating sweet- 
bread and quails.” 

“ Oh, don’t yer git all frusterd,” said Pomp. 
“ I ’ll git yer a nice brekfust putty soon. Things 
ain’t goin’ hard, Miss Marie, yer ’se only hungry.” 
Pomp had a trick of his own by which to raise 
money . 

Toward dusk the next night, Tom was hurry- 
ing home from his office, when a queer figure 
creeping along in the shadow caught his eye. 
There was a natural and an unnatural look about 
it. He went closer ; and the man, feeling an eye 
upon him, shrunk into the area of a house. Tom 
passed on, and, turning the next corner, waited 
a few minutes. Soon the man came in sight, 
and in the light of the street-lamp Tom saw a 
cringing Jew enveloped in the Colonel’s opera 
cloak. 

Tom dashed at it as if he was rescuing “a man 
and a brother,” and demanded of the Jew where 
he had got the cloak. The little man, fright- 
ened almost to death, said it was his. Tom 
demanded again how he came by it, when Mr. 
Isaaks confessed that he had had it so often 
in his pawn-shop, with other things from the 
same place, that he had come to look on it 
as one of the family. He had just stepped 
out for a moment to commune with nature 


THlj COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 65 


before supper, little dreaming what his sad fate 
was to be. 

Tom let him go, and followed him home and 
paid the amount due, and sent the Colonel’s opera 
cloak to its owners by a boy, with directions to 
leave it on the steps and ring the bell. 

Tom would have laughed to see its reception 
by the St. Johns. Pomp opened the door. The 
cloak lay on the steps, like a lost lamb come back 
to the fold, or a prodigal son, or a shipwrecked 
mariner. 

“ Oh, massy gracious ! ” said Pomp, bearing it 
into the family circle in the front parlor, where 
all the gas-lights were blazing, and the shades 
were still raised. 

“ Massy gracious. Miss Leslie, what yer tink ? 
Dat ar op’ra cloak’s done come ob hisself ; 
paid his own pawn-ticket, an’ done rung de 
bell ! I see his brass knobs a-wigglin’ when 
I opened de do’. De days ob de mir’cles am 
returned.” 

Little Clarence ran to the old friend, with open 
arms. 

“O you dear opera cloak ! I wanted you 
awful bad to-day,” he cried, with delight. 

** De op’ra cloak done come back, Missus,” 
shouted little Jasper, running into the back 
parlor, with white eyes shining. “ My gran’fa’ 
done see him walk up de steps, an’ ring de do’, 


66 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 


an’ walk in de parlor, good as anybody ! Tears 
like he was a gent’man come to call.” 

Even Leslie was glad : she always felt dis- 
graced when their things were in pawn. But 
she wished they could put Mr. Cavello in pawu« 
and lose the ticket 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. b; 




CHAPTER V. 

OOMETIMES when Leslie visited Bessie, 
Tom walked home with her through Para- 
dise and the Elysian Fields, called by other 
people Margrave Street and Montgomery Av- 
enue. 

One night they went five blocks too far, by 
mistake. They laughed, and turned, only to 
walk as much too far the other way ; and then 
they woke out of the dream-land in which they 
had been so aimlessly wandering, and looked 
for numbers, and discussed the merits of high- 
stooped and basement houses, and over-ground 
and under-ground railways. 

It mattered little to them. Few steps or many 
under-ground and over-ground cars, carried them 
at lightning speed into a fairy-land, where the 
meanest things were set about with halos, and 
Love, like snow, made all unseemly things 
seem fair.” 

Tom wanted to take Leslie to a concert. Her 
face had lighted up so brightly at Gertrude Hen 


68 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


derson’s fine music, and softened so sweetly at 
Grace Wentworth’s, that he wanted to see her 
enjoy Thomas’s orchestra and the Glee-Club 
Binging. 

He stood in his room, lost in thought, smoking 
away at an unlighted cigar. 

“ There never was a girl so sweet as Leslie, - • 
never, by George ! ” said the handsome young 
fellow, bringing his hand down upon the mantel- 
piece. “ I ’ll take her there. But, then, I sup- 
pose she ’d wear one slipper and a cavalry-boot, 
a silk waist and a petticoat ; a stove-pipe hat and 
a white veil, one mit and a fur glove ; and, over 
all, the Colonel’s opera cloak ! Dear little Leslie, 
she ’d look like a pink, even then, I believe.” 

It gave Tom a twinge, however, to think 
of placing Leslie near Gertrude Henderson, 
or any of his fashionable friends ; not because 
he was ashamed of her, I truly believe, but 
because he remembered Leslie’s quick blushes 
when things were amiss in her dress or about 
the house. 

“ I know ! ” said Tom. “ I ’ll take her to 
drive, and it won’t be round the park either, but 
out into the country and through by-way and 
highway. Things must be getting summerish 
by this time in the country.” 

Tom had discovered a new way of going home 
from his office. He went twelve blocks too fai 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 69 


up town, and across two avenues, in order to 
pass Leslie’s house. He laughed at himself, and 
called it his short cut.” 

Leslie learned to watch for him. 

He rarely came to call, but she counted the 
day lost when she did not bow to him from the 
parlor window ; and Tom felt despondent about 
his business, if he missed her face from between 
the dingy lace curtains ; and then his kind 
mother would say to her boy, when she saw 
the shadow on his face, — 

“No one ever got a great practice at once. 
You are doing as well as any young lawyer.” 

Poor woman ! One look from Leslie’s shy 
eyes would have proved better comfort. 

One day, while Tom was taking his “ short 
cut,” it occurred to him to make a call on Leslie, 
and set a day for a drive. 

Pomp ushered him into the parlor, and went 
to call Leslie. She was behind the curtains, 
watching for Tom. She ventured forth when 
Pomp had shut the door. 

Poor old Pomp ! He didn’t come back. He 
had seen her hiding in the curtains ; he only 
laughed to himself. “ I reckons Miss Leslie^s 
done fotch Massa Tom ! He do’ ’no’ ef his 
head or his heels am de place fur to walk on,” 
he said. 

Leslie was delighted at the idea of the drive. 


70 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


Oh, she had wanted so to see the country ! She 
was always homesick in the city ; and even in 
the North there must be some blossoms now, or, 
at least, a little green grass. 

Her life was a dull one ; and she looked on 
Tom as a kind angel, who had promised her a 
day’s trip to heaven. 

When the day came, it was rather “ misty- 
tnoisty.” Tom sought the family opinion about 
the weather so earnestly, at breakfast, that they 
asked if he was going to a balloon ascension. 

‘‘Whiles I thinks it will rain, and whiles I 
thinks it won’t,” said Bessie, in broad Irish, 
mimicking old Dennis. 

Tom kept his own counsel. He felt instinc- 
tively that Gertrude Henderson would be more 
kindly looked on than shy little Leslie, by the 
family, even for a drive. 

The sun came out in the afternoon. Tom 
appeared at Mrs. St. John’s with a smart buggy 
and a fine horse. 

Leslie had borrowed her aunt’s bonnet. Mrs. 
St. John was quite cheerful at this advance on 
Tom’s part. She almost offered her red India 
shawl. 

“ Now, Miss Leslie,” said Pomp, who had 
gone out to hold the horse, “ yer ain’t got ’nut 
on, ef it comes on rainin’. Yer wait tell I fetch 
de Colonel’s op’ra cloak.” 


THE COLONEHS OPERA CLOAK. 71 


Tom almost demurred. “ O. C. St. John, 
Esq./’ had acquired such a personality at the 
Doctor’s, that he was inclined to look on it as a 
spy He felt as if one of the family had been 
forced on him. He expected Pomp to bring out 
the three young cousins, Mrs. St. John, and Mr. 
Cavello, next. 

Mrs. St. John waved her handkerchief from 
the parlor, while Pomp was seeking for the cloak 
in all its accustomed haunts. The boys balanced 
themselves out of a window. 

“ Hallo, Leslie ! Going to ride with a young 
man ! ho, ho, ho, ho ! Good-by, Mrs. Douglas, 
— good-by.” And little Jasper’s ‘‘te, he,” was 
heard above their voices. 

Pomp laid the cloak over Leslie’s feet, and the 
two young people drove off with flushed cheeks. 
Leslie was almost crying with shame. 

After they passed the city limits, they came 
into the well-kept roads of the suburbs. 

“ How should you like to live in one of those 
houses t ” asked Tom, pointing to a Gothic villa, 
with flower-beds laid out like a puzzle. 

“ Oh ! ” said Leslie, “ I can’t bear that kind. 
How dreadful it would be to walk round that gar- 
den in and out, back and forth, up and down. It 
ought to have a whipping-post, a pillory, and 
the Mansion of Happiness in the middle.” 

“ I don’t like it, either,” said Tom, though he 


^2 THE COLONEL^S OPERA CLOAK. 


had thought it lovely a moment before, and had 
put Leslie in the door-way, and was walking up 
the path himself, all in the flash of an eye ; but 
now this dream faded as quickly as it had 
arisen. 

“ Show me the kind of house you like,” said 
he. 

After they had passed through the long cov- 
ered bridge, under which the river was roaring 
and tumbling over its rocky bed, they reached 
the country ; and there Leslie found houses to 
her mind, — old farm-houses, with sloping roofs ; 
large family mansions, with walled gardens, and 
elms on the lawns. 

The little saxifrage was thick along the 
road, — “ pussy-foot ” Leslie called it. She got 
out to gather some, and Tom had to lift her 
down. They took no time to notice the black 
clouds which were scudding rapidly over the 
heavens. 

Tom had hardly helped Leslie into the car- 
riage, when large drops began to fall. 

“ We are very near a hotel now,” said he, — 
‘•^one you will like. It is called the Half-Way 
House, and kept in real country fashion.” 

The rain was pouring in torrents when they 
drove into the stable. A woman came out, 
and led Leslie through a covered passage into 
the house. 


THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK, 


7J 


It is only an April shower,” said she. ** I ’ll 
warm you, and by that time it will be over.” 

There were long tables in the dining-hall, 
well filled on court and cattle-show days, 
when the Governor and other great men made 
speeches. 

In the little sitting-room was an open fire, and 
here Tom ordered tea. A stern hair-cloth sofa 
filled one side of the room. “ Excuse me,” one 
would almost say before sitting on it. 

“ I wish the fellow who cursed mankind with 
hair-cloth was forced to eat it all,” said Tom, 
eying the sofa. 

Leslie laughed. 

“ I wish our boys had one to jump on,” she 
said : “ it would be better than red satin for 
them.” 

Over the high mantel-piece, “Wide Awake’* 
and “ Fast Asleep ” woke and slumbered. 

“ I suppose it ’s safe to say,” said Tom, “ that 
there isn’t a spot in this wide world unblessed 
by at least one of those pictures. As the poet 
says, — 

* The sea, the lone dark sea hath one,* 
and again, 

* Two are in the church-yard laid. 

And two in Conway dwell.* ’* 

Tom looked around. 


74 the colonel^ S OPERA CLOAK, 


“ Where ’s * God bless our Home ^ ? Bessie 's 
afraid to marry, for fear that motto will be 
given her. Here it is ; and ‘ Love one Another,' — 
that 's good ; and ‘ Welcome,’ — that ’s pleasant.” 

Leslie wished he wouldn’t make fun of every 
thing. She didn’t dare to admire any thing 
except skies, flowers, and music. She had the 
best of Tom there. 

They sat by the fire in the easy-chairs with 
the bright patch cushions, — the chairs which 
almost rocked themselves, — while tea was being 
served on the large light-stand. 

It seemed doubly pleasant, from the rain and 
wind outside. That would only last through this 
delightful tea : the woman had said it was only 
a shower. 

So Leslie smiled and beamed and laughed at 
every thing Tom said ; and she toasted the bread 
a little more, and told Tom if he didn’t eat his 
crusts she should put them on a high shelf for 
his breakfast ; and Tom thought what a jolly 
thing it would be to have Leslie always at a 
little table, laughing at him and warming his 
toast. 

Leslie said the tea was that horrid English 
breakfast tea which tasted like hay ; but Tom 
said it was nectar, — he always knew he should 
be able to fell the thing when he met it ; and 
he found ambrosia in the smoked beef omeleL 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 75 


Leslie said he might put his elbow on the 
talle, and spread jelly on his bread, and sing, 
an l sit in his rocking-chair while he supped, be- 
cause this nice little time was “just for once/’ 
Tom’s spirits drooped for a minute, and then 
he fortified himself with a “We’ll see.” 

I'he opera cloak hung on a chair by the fire. 
Tom felt rebuked that he had not asked it to 
“ draw up ” and “ take a bite.” 

When tea was over, Leslie sat in her chair by 
the fire, and sang the little songs which seemed 
to belong to her. The light shone through her 
flossy hair, and made a halo about her pretty 
head. She said she wished she could “ purr.” 

The old clock in the hall struck six. The rain 
was driving as heavily as ever. The woman 
came in to bring more wood, and Leslie rather 
reproached her for the storm, — “You said it 
would be over after tea.” 

The woman laughed. “ Folks always look for 
showers in April,” she said ; “ but this has set in 
for the night, the men-folks seem to think.” 

“Then we ought to go now,” said Leslie, ris- 
ing and taking a longing look at the fire. “I 
hope 1 sha’n’t spoil my bonnet,” she added. 

The buggy was soon at the door. Tom had 
pulled up the boot, and had borrowed a thick robe 
Leslie lamented over her bonnet so much, that 
the kind-hearted woman lent her a cloud, which 


7^ THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 


Tom was to return with the robe, and put the 
bonnet into a box, and stowed it safely under the 
seat. 

The last dim light of day had faded in the 
west ; and before they had gone far the black 
night was upon them. The wind blew furiously 
They could not see one step before them. 

The roads were running rivers, and the rain 
had dug deep gu]leys by the road-side, into which 
the wheels would slip now and then, and nearly 
upset the carriage. 

“ Do you know the road ? ” asked Leslie, in a 
whisper. » 

“ Oh, yes. I Ve been here dozens of times.’* 
But Tom was rather inclined to think that knowl 
edge was of little avail in this darkness. 

After they had gone slowly along for an hour 
the horse was thrown suddenly upon his haunches, 
and the carriage gave a terrible lurch. A crash 
was heard, and a deep voice: “Vot you vant 
here, runnin’ indo beobles dis vay ^ Git out ! ” 

The horse groaned and fell. Tom held the 
reins with his right hand, and Leslie with his 
lett. 

“ Don’t be frightened,” he said ; I ’ll lift you 
out ; ” which he did, and set her ankle-deep in a 
puddle. 

He and the German who had collided wUh 
him held a consu^^^ation. 


rHE COLONEL OPERA CLOAK, 77 


“ Ve can’t do som’thin’ vidout light,” said the 
man, “ and I ton’t see no housen.” 

“ I ’m leaning against a fence,” said Leslie, 
to announce her discovery. Perhaps there ’s a 
house behind it. I will see.” 

Tom was sitting on the horse’s head to keep 
him down ; the German was righting the 
buggy. 

Leslie felt along the fence, and soon touched 
a gate-latch. She found a gravel path, and, step- 
ping carefully along, she at last stumbled upon 
a house, and called out triumphantly that she 
had found one. 

She pounded on the door, — perfect silence. 
Again she pounded ; and at last kicked with her 
stout boots, — Clarence’s boots, rather. 

Then she heard steps : the door rattled, and 
she was dazzled by a light in her face, which an 
old woman in a night-gown and ruffled cap held 
over her head. 

The old woman looked blankly into the dark- 
ness. 

“We have lost our way,” said Leslie’s voice, 
out of the night, “ and our horse is dying, and 
a man has run into us, and we want some 
help.” 

After the woman had recovered from her sur- 
prise, she lowered the light, and looked Leslie 
over. 


78 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 


“ Come in,” she said, at last. “ I ’ll wake up 
my old man, and git him out. We just come 
back from visitin’ my darter-in-law, and we felt 
sort o’ wore out, and went off to bed early.” 

Leslie ran back to tell Tom that help was 
coming. 

When she returned to the house, the old 
woman had roused her husband, who, being 
deaf, did not start fair on the subject. 

“ Whose horse did you say } ” 

“ I dunno, — a strange horse.” 

Oh, a strayed horse, — strayed into the 
garden-patch ? ” 

“ And there ’s a man and a woman ! ” 

** Oh ! a man. I thought you said a horse.” 

** And a woman.” 

“ Oh ! I thought you said a man. Was she 
afoot ? ” 

The old woman brought another light, and, 
seeing Leslie shiver, she kindled a little fire in the 
kitchen stove, and made her put her feet on the 
hearth. She asked her a thousand questions ! 
what the man’s name was, and where he was 
** settin’ out for ; ” as if he was an emigrant train. 

Leslie told her their names, and where they 
lived, and answered all her questions. 

The old woman was delighted with her visitor, 
offered her some mince -pie, and was hurt when 
Leslie declined eating it 


THE COLONEL’S OPERA CLOAK. 79 


“ ’Tain’t made with dried apples/’ she said, as 
if Leslie had insinuated that it was. 

The man came back for another lantern. 

“ Is the horse dead } ” Leslie screamed anx- 
iously to him. 

“ No, marm, he was only skeert a little. 
Nothin’ ain’t the matter with nothin’.” 

“ Ain’t you afeard,” asked the old woman, “ to 
go through the long bridge agin } It ’s putty 
rickety in the daytime ; and it ain’t no better by 
night, I can tell you. Folks says — though I 
don’t know as it’s trew — there’s burglars about 
there, and murderin’ a-goin’ on nights. You 
remember them little narrer winders ^long 
the sides, don’t you ? ” 

“ Yes Leslie remembered them. 

“ Well, they say how they robs ’em o’ their 
bosom-pins and chains, and then throws ’em out 
o’ them winders.” 

Leslie’s eyes opened with fright. 

“ I haven’t any jewelry,” she said. ** I won- 
der if they’ll believe me.” 

** Oh, I guess so,” said the old woman, en- 
couragingly. “ I never heard that they didn’t 
believe folks.” 

Tom came in. 

*‘We’re all ready. Miss Leslie. Nothing 
was broken, and we shall go on very well, 
now.” 


&0 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


Tom borrowed the old man’s lantern, and 
Leslie held it at arm’s length above her head, 
while Tom drove. 

The horse walked carefully along. Tom 
laughed at Leslie’s fears of the bridge : he had 
been through it at all hours of the day and the 
night, and had never even heard of a murder 
there ; and so she was quieted. But those were 
solemn moments, going through the covered 
bridge. “ Thump, thump, thump,” went the 
horse’s echoing feet. It seemed as if he were 
in a tread-mill, going over and over the same 
ground. 

Leslie held Tom’s sleeve all the time, and 
drew a sigh of relief when the thump, thump,” 
was deadened on solid ground. 

It was ten by this time, and they had yet 
some way to go. 

“ I shall never forgive myself,” said Tom, 
‘‘for the discomfort and fright I have given 
you, and I ’ll never forget what a brave girl 
you were, to hunt up that house in the dark. 
Most girls would have fainted, or sat down and 
cried. I took Gertrude Henderson out once, 
and she fainted when the horse ran a little, 
though I never lost control of him. It is a com- 
fort to see such a brave girl as you.” 

Leslie’s heart was flying with happiness. 

“ Oh, don’t say you are sorry you took me. 


rHE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 8 1 


The drive out was beautiful, and the lovely little 
t;ea I shall remember for ever. I never had such 
a good time in my life. I was just as happy as 
I wanted to be for once; and to-morrow even 
this will be funny to laugh about.” 

“ I ’m afraid you ’ll take cold,” said Tom, in 
a tone that was rapidly becoming tender. 

“ Oh, no, I shan’t. I never take cold,” said 
I^eslie. “ I am so strong, nobody ever thinks 
about me, or takes care that I don’t get cold.” 

“ I know somebody who thinks about you, 
and who likes to take care of you.” 

“ Oh, yes, — Pomp,” said Leslie, innocently ; 
and then it flashed across her that he meant 
himself ; but that couldn’t be. And Tom 
thought he had said too much, and would vex 
her, and so was silent. They rode along slowly, 
letting the horse take his own pace. 

It was eleven when they reached Mrs. St. 
John’s. Tom nearly carried Leslie up the wet 
steps. Pomp was watching, and opened the 
door at the sound of their feet. Then Tom 
brought in the bonnet-box, held Leslie’s hand 
one long second, said “ good-night,” and was 
off. 

Pomp softly closed the door, and motioned 
to Leslie to take off her boots, and tiptoe after 
him to the kitchen. There he had a cup of 
coffee for her, and made her put her feet in hot 

6 


82 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


water, while she related the incidents of the 
drive. 

He suddenly struck a tragic attitude: “Miss 
I^eslie ! Whar 's de Colonel’s op’ra cloak ? ” 

“ Gracious, Pomp, I don’t know ! We had 
such a warm robe, and Mr. Tom would wrap it 
<50 close around me, that I never thought of the 
cloak. I know we started with it. I must have 
dropped it when the carriage tipped over. What 
will Aunt Marie say ? ” 

“Jus’ yer say nuffin, honey; only leave it to 
me,” said Pomp, rolling his white eyes, and 
looking as wise as an owl. “ I ’ll ’tend to de 
op’ra cloak ! ” 

What dreams Leslie had that night ! She 
waded through rivers, and climbed mountains ; 
but Tom was always by, to help her ; and his 
voice was ringing in her ears when she awoke 
the next morning. She could praise him to 
Pomp, — that was a comfort ! 

When Tom reached home, the family were in 
bed. At breakfast, he said that he went out of 
town in the afternoon. Luckily, a plate fell and 
was broken, at that minute, and the conversa- 
tion turned from him and his affairs. 

Endless were the demands, the next two 
days, for the Colonel’s opera cloak. Pomp was 
indefatigable in searching for it. He went 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 83 


under beds, and in his pretended zeal peered 
under the bureaus and wardrobe. 

“ Don’t be a fool, Pomp,” said Mrs. St. John, 
peevishly, “ looking where you couldn’t squeeze 
it. You ’d better look in your mouth next ! ” 

When Pomp was alone with Mrs. St. John, 
he hinted mysteriously that Mr. Cavello “might 
tell suthin’, ef he keerd to, ’bout dat op’ra cloak. 
When niggers set up for gent’men, nobody 
couldn’t never tell what dey’d wouldn’t do to 
vder- folks’s op’ra cloaks ! ” 

“ What do you mean. Pomp, opening your 
eyes at me like great cups and saucers } ” said 
Mrs. St. John, who did not mind a word more or 
less, to strengthen a simile. 

Pomp only shut his mouth tightly, and shook 
his head very hard, and -vvould not say any 
more. 

The third day after the drive, Mrs. Douglas 
saw the queerest market-wagon in front of her 
door, and heard a strange voice parleying with 
the servant who had answered the bell. 

She stepped into the hall. An old man was 
explaining to “the lady,” as he called Bridget, 
that his woman had remembered where the 
young gentleman lived, and he had brought 
home his cape ; and he held out to her the 
Colonel’s opera cloak. 

“ This doesn’t belong here,” said Mrs. Doug- 
las. “ Where did you get it ? ” 


84 the COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


The old man related in great detail how the 
young lady knocked at his door, and how he 
thought it was a boss that had got into the sass- 
garden ; and how she had come in, and he had 
gone out ; and how the young gentleman sat on 
the boss’s head, and how, after they had gone, 
his woman wished she’d made 'em stay all 
night ; and how in the morning he ’d found the 
gentleman’s red cape lying by his fence ; and 
how a bush had kept it from the rain and mud, 
— pretty well for a bush ; and how his wife had 
wanted him to fetch it home that day, and how 
he couldn’t, because his boss had to be shoed, and 
he ’d had a stiff neck himself the next day, and 
this was the fust time he ’d had a chance, and how 
that they mustn’t think strange onto it. 

He took it so thoroughly for granted that Mrs. 
Douglas knew all about the affair, that she had 
to ravel his story to get the right of it. She 
thought that “ the gentleman ” must have been 
Mr. Cavello, and could not imagine how the 
old man had hit upon her house. 

Was it a very dark gentleman } ” she asked. 

‘‘ Oh, no, ma’am, — a light young man, with a 
reddish moustache and blue eyes, I should say ; 
but it was ruther dark to tell eyes.” 

Oh ! ” said Mrs. Douglas, light dawning 
upon her, — “I understand. The cloak does 
not belong here. I’ll tell you where to take 


^HE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOA^. 85 


it” And she sent him to the house on Mar- 
grave Street. 

Mr. Cavello was standing on the steps, draw 
ing on his gloves. The old man took it foi 
granted that this was his house. 

I ’ve fetched your cape home,” he said. 

“ Oh,” said Mr. Cavello. “ Where have you 
found it.?” 

“ Under a bush,” said the old fellow. “ It 
wa’n’t spoilt at all, now, was it .? ” 

“ No. I will give you a dollar, if you shall tell 
me where you have found it.” For nothing had 
been heard for the last two days but lamenta 
tions over the opera cloak. 

The old man went carefully over the details 
again, not omitting the stiff neck, and what “I 
said,” and what “ my woman said.” 

Mr. Cavello’s blood was up. Here was the 
pretty girl whom he wanted to marry slipping 
off to drive with the Doctor’s young puppy. 

He threw the cloak to Pomp, whom he met 
in the hall, as he entered the house. 

Pomp carried it to Mrs. St. John’s room, his 
eyes shining, round and white. 

“ Look a-here ! ” said he, with a most signifi- 
cant expression. “ Massa Cavello ’s ^fouri ’ de 
Colonel’s op’ra cloak! I fought he’d fin’ dat 
ar cloak, when he heerd me a talkin’ so pinted 
*bout it, roun’ his do’, and ev’ry time I see him 


86 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


in de house. I ’se jes’ cotched him wid it in de 
hall.” 

Pomp carried the cloak to the kitchen, and 
looked it over by the light. The bush of which 
the old man had boasted had hardly done its 
duty. There were sad streaks of mud on the 
outside, as well as upon the scarlet lining. 

" I reckon I ’d better see ’bout dat,” said 
Pomp. “ Miss Marie ’ll done ax whar dat ’s ben, 
— looks like ’t had ben on a spree, I do declar.' 
I mus’ fotch it down to dat ar Chiny nigger what 
swashes de Colonel’s shirts, an’ irons ’em, when 
he ’s to home.” And he carried it at once to Ah 
Chin’s laundry, to be cleaned. 

Bessie couldn’t let the story rest. As if the 
Colonel’s opera cloak didn’t belong already to 
people enough, without Tom’s borrowing it ! 
She ignored Leslie in the matter, and asked Tom 
to take her sack out to drive, some fine day. She 
said that nothing that opera cloak might do could 
surprise her ; she expected to see it riding on 
horseback, humming an air from Robert le 
Diable,” or walking up the church aisle. 

She said it was a sort of goblin, a new form in 
which some spirit was making its appearance ; 
for her part, she was afraid of it, and neither for 
love nor for money would she stay in the dark 
with it. 

“Come, Bessie,” said Tom, getting a little 


THE COLONELS OPERA CLOAK. 87 


vexed. “ If that joke can’t die a natural death, 
let it die an unnatural one ! Let this be the end 
of the opera cloak ! ” 

“ Death ! ” Bessie shivered. “ If the opera 
cloak died, that'wouldn’t be the end of it ; though 
It might be the end of me. It would come back to 
haunt us, — I know it would. Just as the clock 
struck one, I should see it stand by my bedside, 
up in the air, on its invisible legs, the gilt clasps 
gleaming like eyes. * Come ! ’ it would whisper, 
opening its flapping sides, ^ I seek ’ ” — 

Bessie shut the door just in time to escape the 
sofa pillow which Tom aimed at her head. 

Tom went out of town for a few days on busi- 
ness. When he returned, the lawyer in the next 
office told him that a colored man had been 
knocking at his door every few minutes since he 
left. Tom wondered what was to pay at the 
St. Johns’ now ; he was obliged to go to court to 
wait for a case of his to be called up, but meant 
to see Leslie on his way home. 

As he entered the court -room, the clerk, in a 
brown wig, black beard, and thick spectacles, was 
reading from a large blue paper, in a loud voice, 
that — 

“John J. Jackson, of aforesaid, laborer, 

at aforesaid, on the tenth day of April, in 

the year of our Lord 187-, with force and arms, 
in and upon one Ah Chin, then and there in the 


88 the COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


peace of said State being, an assault did make, 
and him the said Ah Chin, with certain gravel 
and mire then and there in the hands of him the 
said Jackson held, did beat, bruise, wound, and 
evil treat : against the statute in such case pro' 
vided, and the peace and dignity of the State 
aforesaid.” 

The prosecuting attorney then arose and ad- 
dressed the court, standing with his back to the 
culprit, saying that the prisoner had been here- 
tofore convicted upon this indictment : it was 
his duty now to move for sentence. 

He said he knew nothing of the details of this 
particular case, having been out of town when it 
was tried by his assistant ; but that, from the 
facts set forth in the indictment, and the verdict 
of guilty, the man who stood at the bar was evi- 
dently one of those brutal fellows who had been 
making attacks of late upon the unoffending 
Chinese residents of the city. Such men as 
he should learn by a bitter lesson that they are 
not the lords of this community. 

He said he would present to the court, in order 
that the particulars of the offence might be fully 
understood, the evidence of the Chinaman, and 
of the policeman who had made the arrest. 

At this point, an irrepressible smile began 
to break over the face of the judge, and half- 
smothered but increasing laughter was heard 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 8g 


in the court-room, above the thumping of the 
sheriff’s stick. 

Whereupon the prosecuting attorney, turning 
round to see what was the matter, caught sight, 
for the first time, of “ the prisoner,” — a thin, 
small black boy, his face ashy with terror, his 
wool sticking out in little tails all over his head, 
vainly endeavoring to raise his glaring white 
eyes over the rails of the small iron fence within 
which he was impounded. 

It was John Jasper Jackson. The prosecuting 
attorney sat down, and joined in the laughter, 
which now became general. 

At this point, a high, wide policeman, in blue 
and gold, with a fiery beard, and a mahogany 
club in his belt, advanced, pushing a small yel- 
low Chinaman before him, with a black em- 
broidered gown, pointed shoes, and a pigtail. 

The Chinaman was duly sworn, in sonorous 
phrases, which he did not understand, “to testify 
the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
truth, concerning the matter now in hearing,” 
wondering meanwhile why the policeman wanted 
to make him hold his right arm up in the air. 

Ah Chin, in response to many subtly worded 
inquiries, spoken in a loud, distinct tone, was 
finally brought to say that the “ miggee boy ” 
threw mud at his clean shirts, and tried to rob 
him of “ big miggee’s ” red gown. 


90 THE COLONELS OPERA CLOAK. 


Here the officious policeman, to clinch the 
story, with much crackling of brown paper, 
unfolded, and held up at arm’s length, red side 
out, the Colonel’s opera cloak. 

Pomp, who had been vainly seeking 'Torn, 
arrived at this moment, and was much struck by 
the pageant. 

“ Massy gracious ! ” he cried to the policeman. 
“Ain’t yer done enuf, to ketch one pore lettle 
nigger boy, ’thout hookin’ de Colonel’s op’ra 
cloak } ” 

The policeman was then called to the witness- 
stand, and, folding the cloak, — quite as if he 
was the Colonel, — proceeded to tell what he 
knew of the affair : how he had seen this black 
boy before the Chinaman’s door, where mud had 
evidently been thrown into the shop, and had 
caught him with his fist full of wet sand. 

At this point, the prosecuting attorney rose, 
and said that in the hurry of business he had 
evidently been mistaken as to the age and size 
of the offender, but that, nevertheless, he merited 
a sharp punishment. 

The clerk demanded of the prisoner if he had 
yet found his “ counsel.” 

John Jasper, who had caught sight of Tom 
conferring with Pomp, encouraged by a wink 
from the young man, called out in his high, thin 
voice, — 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 91 


“Bar’s Massa Tom, — he knows me, don’t 
yer, Massa Tom ? An’ yer knows de Colonel’s 
op’ra cloak yer had de day yer took Miss Leslie 
out to ride ; an’ yer knows dat ’s our cloak, an’ 
dat yeller man he hooked it, an’ I seed it hangin’ 
in his ketchen door, an’ he wouldn’t let me hev 
it, an’ I frowed mud at him, an’ ” — 

Tom was just rising, when the judge said, — 

“ Mr. Douglas, this young desperado seems to 
be a friend of yours : what can you tell us about 
him .? ” 

Tom, who had been talking with Pomp, and 
saw how matters stood, briefly explained to the 
judge the mistake into which the boy had fallen. 
He knew him to be a good boy, and, if the judge 
would release him, he would be surety for his 
good behavior : the trouble was simply that the 
boy loved this opera cloak, “ not wisely, but 
too well.” 

His suggestion was at once carried out ; and 
Tom then and there entered into a solemn 
covenant with the State. He acknowledged 
himself bound, together with his heirs, that 
the aforesaid John J. Jackson, laborer, should 
keep the peace and be of good behavior for the 
term of twelve calendar months : in default of 
which, he, the said Thomas Douglas, attorney 
at law, would forfeit the sum of one hundred 
dollars unto the aforesaid State, out of his goods 


92 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 


and estate, and, in default thereof, his body ; and 
thereupon he became the legal custodian of John 
Jasper Jackson. 

Tom meant to guard this fine story from ^ 
Bessie; but at the tea-table the thought of 
Jasper’s white eyes gleaming over the railing 
came across him, and he burst into such a fit of 
laughter that the family all jumped : and then 
they insisted on sharing the joke. 

Bessie woke up in the middle of the night, and 
laughed. She hoped these delightful St. Johns 
would never go away. To have them at hand 
was like having a season ticket to a circus. 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 93 


CHAPTER VL 

7HEN Mrs. Douglas was refurnishing her 
^ ^ back parlor, she had asked the Doctor, as 
a sort of compliment, what color in a carpet 
would please him best. The Doctor, gratified at 
being consulted, replied, “ Let the carpet be red, 
and let the paper have gold buttons on it ; ” — 
she had already bought a Morris paper, with 
dado and tiles, — “ and let the furniture be red, 
too, — it looks so cheerful.” 

Mrs. Douglas, like the wise woman that she 
was, smiled on the Doctor, and forthwith went 
her own way. 

The Doctor was the man who had always 
called ‘^gimp” “jimp,” till he had felt the 
ennobling influence of woman’s love ; and who 
still spoke of “ shams ” as “ mock pillows.” 
He knew not a polonaise from an arab, strange 
to say, after years of married life ; and, when his 
wife’s suit of Russian gray came home, he asked 
in a grieved tone why she and Bessie never 
wore “ red spencers.” 


94 the colonel^ s opera cloak. 


Well, the room was refurnished : a few red 
chairs relieved its fashionable gloom, and the 
open fire put a soul into it. A room, be it 
ever so rich, is a tomb without an open fire and 
sunshine. 

The Doctor looked about him with pride, when 
it was furnished. It was his taste, you know! 
He did not miss the red carpet nor the gold spots 
on the paper, which Mrs. Douglas had inter- 
preted as being the “ gold buttons ” designated. 

“ This is a room to live in,” he said ; and he 
slipped into his easy-chair by the fire, and put 
his feet on the fender. 

The rain was beating furiously on the panes, 
and the wind was lashing the vines against the 
windows. 

The poor Doctor had been out the night 
before and all day long in the rain, and he 
prayed earnestly that pain might cease, or that, 
if it should not, its victims might send for the 
doctor around the corner. 

“ This is the night of nights for Mrs. St. John 
to have the neuralgia,” said Bessie, in an en- 
couraging tone, as she peeped out of the window. 
‘‘ Her unselfish soul would revel in sending 
poor Pomp out in this furious storm. I seem to 
hear the night-bell, and Pomp’s ‘ Massa Doctor, 
Miss Marie, she ’s ’most done dead wid sort o’ 
fits in her mouf, — ’pears like to be de toofache, 


rHE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 95 


ef anybody else had done got it. She’s been 
’mos’ dyin’ all day, but she wouldn’t boder 
nobody to git de doctor, tell in de middle ob de 
night, ’cause she hates to boder folks in de 
daytime.’ ” 

“ Stop, Bess,” said the Doctor, wearily. “ You 
make me tired. Heaven rest the sufferers 
to-night, and delay Mrs. St. John’s neuralgia 
until morning.” 

About one o’clock, the Doctor’s night-bell was 
pulled furiously ; but he, poor man, was so over- 
come with sleep, that he only dreamed that he 
was late for the cars, and was making frantic 
but ineffectual efforts to jump on to a morning 
train. 

A second ring awakened Tom, who put his 
head out of the window. “ Halloo ! ” said he. 

Want the Doctor .? ” 

“ Oh, massy gracious, Massa Tom ! ” Pomp’s 
voice called from the darkness. “ Call de Doc- 
tor, for massy’s sake : my little Jasper ’s dyin’, 
I ’se sure. Don’t wait for nuffin’ but de physic- 
jugs, an' come ’long, for he’s got de croup or de 
colic or de consum’tion, or suthin’. Miss Leslie 
she ’s a-holdin’ of him and nussin’ of him whiles 
I runs here.” 

Tom roused his father, who, with his eyes 
half-shut, gathered up his medicines ; and the 


96 THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. 


two set out together. Pomp had vanished in the 
darkness. 

When they reached the house, Clarence, in 
his night-gown, opened the door, crying with all 
his might, — 

“ O Doctor, do hurry and give Jasper some 
stuff, for he ’s 'most dying ! And the poor little 
fellow burst into a howl of woe, and then threw 
himself down on the stairs. 

In the parlor, Leslie sat upon the broad, low 
satin sofa, half-holding the sick child, who, pale 
and weak, breathed only in faint groans. 

She did not speak when they entered, and 
hardly noticed Tom, — he seemed far away, 
with the sunshine and the daylight. Tears were 
slowly rolling down her pale cheeks. Tom 
wished he could kiss them away, and then was 
ashamed of the thought, where one thought only 
seemed in place; and he humbly and quietly 
seated himself in the shadow. 

The Doctor examined the boy, and asked 
questions of the others. His throat had been 
sore for several days, and he had “ felt sick, — 
but not so sick that he couldn’t tussle and 
wrastle,” Clarence explained, as he stood shiver- 
ing in his scanty raiment. 

“ Doctor,” said Pomp, drawing him into a 
corner near Tom, “I mus’ tell yer de symp- 
tims. John Jasper ain't never dreffle strong, — 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 97 


his constitution ain’t good. He’s had de con- 
sum’tion twice, an’ times an’ times he 'd a 
perished, ef I hadn’t ben a-lookin’ after him. 
Yes’day aft’noon he fell down on to his side, — 
de side what ’s had de fits into it before ; an’ 
wid his sore froat, an’ all, I know he’s gwine 
fur to die. 

“When de death-cravin’ come on, says I to 
me, ‘ He ’s a-gwine to die.’ Fust, he axed fur 
some tripe, an’ I cooked it fur him, an’ he eat it 
all up. Den he axed fur some watermillion, — 
pore boy, — but I couldn’t git him none, ’cause 
'tain’t de time fur watermillions. Den he axed 
fur some pie, an’ I giv him dat, an’ he eat it all 
up ; an’ den he axed fur some fish, an’ I got dat, 
an’ cook it an’ giv it to him, an’ he eat it all up. 
I couldn’t git no pigs’ feet fur him, so he axed 
fur liver, an’ I got it an’ cook it, an’, don’t yer 
b’lieve, he never eat one mou’ful of it ! Den I 
fought, he ’s gwine to die right away, dis aft’noon. 

“ After dat, he got better, an’ spoke up smart 
an’ peart, an’ I fought p’r’aps we could bring 
him round ; but now, Massa, he ’s gwine, — I ’ve 
seen heaps of ’em gwine, an’ I knows de looks.” 

“ I am afraid he is, my poor fellow,” said the 
Doctor. 

“ Don’t tell Miss Leslie,” said Pomp, eager to 
spare his darling one pain. “ Don’t tell her, not 
tell it comes.” 


98 THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. 


“ See, Jasper,” said Wilfrid, his trousers hang- 
ing by one suspender, “ you may have my foot- 
ball.” 

The poor little eyes unclosed, and the boy 
opened his arms to receive it. 

“ That ain’t nothing, Jasper,” added Wilfrid. 
‘T ’ll give you my new six-bladed knife with 2 
file and a tooth-pick and a glove-buttoner.” 

A faint smile touched the poor little face. 

Tom never thought of laughing at the inap- 
propriate gift. 

“ O Jasper,” cried Clarence, bursting into a 
torrent of tears, and throwing himself on the 
floor, “ you may have every thing I ’ve got, all 
my marbles, and my new alleys, and the kite 
and the gun, and every thing, if you ’ll only get 
well ! And I ’ll let you slide on the banisters 
every day, if you won’t die.” 

The crying aroused the sick child, and at 
the last words he opened his eyes and looked 
about. 

“ Massa Doctor,” said he, in a faint, choked 
little voice, “ is I gwine to die sure 1 Is I gwine 
to glory ’lone, ’thout nobody ? ” 

“ Oh, I hope not, my little fellow. Swallow 
tnis, and try to get well,” said the Doctor, in 3 
cheerful tone. 

“ I hasn’t never seen de Lord Jesus,” said th4 
child. ** But I done reckon I knows him. Ole 


THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. 99 


Sally, she loves to die, and she said he was alius 
hangin’ ’bout de gate to fotch in de folks dat 
wants to git in, an’ int’duce ’em to his frien’s. 
I ain’t got nobody dar, ’cept Joseph an’ Moses 
an’ dat crowd, an’ I wants to wait, Massa Doc» 
tor, tell my gran’fa’ goes fust, to be lookin’ ou^ 
fur me ; fur it ’s dreffle dark an’ rainy to-night, 
Massa Doctor, and I ’se afeerd dat de Lord 
Jesus can’t see a lettle nigger boy when de 
night ’s so black. I s’pect I ’d better holler my 
name all de time, so he’ll know I ’se a-comin’.” 

After a few minutes, he broke the silence 
again : — 

“ I done wish I could wait, Massa Doctor, 
tell my gran’fa’ an’ Miss Leslie ’s done gone ; fur 
my gran’fa’, he ’d know, de fust time I called 
out, an’ I ’d see Miss Leslie a-comin’ to fotch 
me, in a white dress, an’ tell me de supper was 
waitin’ hot, like de day she did when I got los’.” 

Mrs. St. John, whose faint sobs had been 
heard in the next room, appeared at the door in 
her wrapper, with a severe look upon her face. 

Doctor,” said she, “ don’t you know of some 
stuff to cure that child } I don’t see, for my 
part, what ’s the good of having a doctor, if he 
can’t cure a poor little darkey. We were often 
ill South, but we always got well ; and here we 
are alive. I don’t know what the Colonel will 
do to you, if you let that boy die.” 

tore. 


ICO THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 


The Doctor took no notice of her, and she 
went back to bed, convinced that she had stirred 
him up to his duty. 

Jasper opened his languid eyes. 

I wants to see de Colonel," he piped, in a 
high, thin voice, “ef I ’se a-gwine to die. Massa 
Doctor, can’t I live tell de Colonel gits home } 
He said he’d fotch me suthin’, an’ I wants to 
see what it ’s gwine to be. I loves de Colonel, 
an’ de Colonel loves me. He said I might 
black his boots all de time, when he come 
agin.’’ 

Pomp quietly followed the Doctor’s orders, and 
Leslie bathed the cold forehead and the passive 
hands. She bent over the child, and kissed him. 
It seemed to Tom, sitting in the shadow, that an 
angel had appeared to do a humble service. 

Outside, the watchman paced the sidewalk, 
and the rain drove against the windows. The 
bells clanged four o’clock. 

The little French clock ticked on : it was the 
only bit of furniture that did its duty in that 
rack-and-manger ’’ house. 

In the dim parlor, love, the best of all things, 
was surrounding and comforting the little black 
boy, as his life was slowly wearing away. He 
held the ball in his arms. The boys had poured 
out their playthings around him, and he ap« 
peared to be enjoying them. 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK 10\ 


Once in a while he was seized with a terrible 
pain, and then it seemed as if the boys would 
die with agony. Jasper was of the same age as 
Clarence. I do not believe the boys knew any 
difference in their affection for him and for each 
other. Jasper and Clarence had oft^n slept to* 
gether on the parlor sofa or on the stairs, when 
sleep overtook them there. 

The terrible spasm over, Jasper t-pened his 
eyes, which looked large and white. 

“ Ef I’se gwine to die, Massa Doctor, an’ de 
Colonel ain’t come home, I wants de Colonel’s 
op’ra cloak frowed over me. Ef I ken smell de 
Colonel’s cigar in it, an’ ef I shets my eyes, 
’pears like de Colonel ’s here. I ’mos’ hear him 
say, ‘ Jasper, I ’se — fetched — you — somethin’.” 

Leslie looked at the Doctor with questioning 
eyes, but found no encouragement iu his look. 
The little head grew heavv on he>r lap, the 
breathing grew fainter and slower. I eslie ar^^w 
the opera cloak closer about the boy, as she felt 
him shiver. 

For a moment the room was silent. 

“My dear,” said the Doctor, “it is over. Lit- 
tle Jasper has gone.” Then Leslie bent over him 
and cried. She had tried so hard to keep back 
the tears before. Pomp came to comfort her, as 
if Jasper’s death had been a greater gri-^ *-0 her 
than to him. 


102 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 


The boys, in utter misery, were sobbing loudly. 
Mrs. St. John was endeavoring to faint, and 
Pomp was needed to take care of her. Tom 
took Leslie’s burning hands in his, hardly know- 
ing what he did. 

“Come home with us,” said he. “You have 
done all you can : let the others do the rest.' 
Although she shook her head, there was comfort 
for her in his voice. 

The gray light struggled in through the shades 
with a dismal loneliness that the night had failed 
to bring. 

The boys, worn out with crying, crept away, 
awed into stillness by the quiet of death. Their 
little playfellow now seemed old and wise to 
them, holding a secret they could not know ; 
and they turned from him in fear. 

“ Nobody shall touch him but Pomp and me,” 
iaid Leslie, all at once a thoughtful woman. 

She brought a night-gown for the little fellow, 
and made a bed on the sofa to lay him on. 

Pomp, to whom she had always turned for 
comfort, was lost in admiration. 

“ O Miss Leslie, honey,” said he, in a trem- 
bling voice, “ don’t yer do any more : yer acts, 
chile, ’s ef yer was de gran’fa’ of dis pore let tie 
boy. Yer go to yer bed, an’ git a lettle sleep.” 

“O Pomp,” said the girl, “don’t send me 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 103 


to bed! You’ve sat up for me many a night 
when I was sick or sorry; and I shan’t desert 
you now in your trouble. Let the others go. 
I will stay with you.” 

The Doctor and Tom went away, and left the 
tried friends together in the dreary house. 

In the morning Mrs. Douglas went to see 
Leslie. She knew that Mrs. St. John would 
only appear as chief mourner, — not a helpful 
character to assume. 

The unruly door between the parlors had been 
closed. Mrs. St. John had exchanged rooms 
with Leslie : it made her nervous to be so near 
a dead person. 

Leslie was laying flowers about the parlor. 

“ I shall never forget your sending me these,” 
said she, going to Mrs. Douglas, with a tearful 
smile. But Mrs. Douglas had not sent them. 

“ Nobody can do any thing for me,” she added. 

The boys have been so good, poor fellows ! 
They are almost sick with crying. I am going 
with Pomp this afternoon, to buy a place in the 
cemetery for poor little Jasper. Oh, what a 
dreadful thing it is to die — or to live ! ” cried 
the girl, breaking down, and throwing her arms 
about Mrs. Douglas, who took her to her heait 
in real motherly fashion, smoothing her hair and 
kissing her. 

You must come to stay with us for a few 


104 the colonehs opera cloak. 


days, my dear, when this is over, and get rested," 
she said. 

The next day Tom and Bessie went to the 
house. The minister was there. He read a few 
lines of comfort, and spoke words of kindness ; 
and then Pomp and the others took little Jasper 
to his last resting-place. 

They stood by the grave for a moment, while 
Pomp muttered a short prayer, and reverently 
raised his hat, — it was Mr. Cavello’s hat, — and 
then, drawing the Colonel’s opera cloak about 
him, he put Leslie and the rest of the company 
into the carriages, and turned his face toward 
home. 

“ Dis yere death ’s’ a mighty myste’ous thing, 
Miss Leslie,’’ said Pomp, as the two sat, a short 
time after this, on the kitchen stairs, waiting for 
the kettle to boil. Stairs were much approved 
of as seats by the St. Johns : they were always 
safe; and chairs were treacherous, and never 
could be depended on. 

Yes, Pomp,’’ said Leslie: “a few days ago, 
and we could ask Jasper what he knew oi 
felt or thought; and now, if we asked him, 
he couldn’t tell us so that we could under 
stand.’’ 

“Wh^, Miss Leslie,’’ asked Pomp, in sudden 
alarm, ^*why couldn’t we un’stan’ him? Yei 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 105 


don’t ’spect he’ll talk de wrong way, like de Jew 
in de pawn-shop, or de Chinyman, does yer, — 
so ’t I can’t un’stan’ him when I gits dar ? I 
hope he ain’t gwine to git so lamed dat I shall 
hev to be int’duced to him ! Does yer tink, 
Miss Leslie, dey grows up, or stays de way dey 
was when dey goes in ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Leslie, who tried in her 
simple way to be good, and in so trying wrought 
out a sweet and Christlike religion. “ I don’t 
know : only the hymn says, — 

‘ We shall know each other there.* 

I reckon, Pomp, it will be just as if we had been 
away from our friends for a good while, and 
when we saw them again, they were changed, 
and were gentler and kinder and more beauti- 
ful ; and we should see that they were different, 
and yet they ’d be the same. We ’d know them 
as soon as they spoke, even though it was in a 
dark room, and we didn’t know they were there.” 

Pomp’s tearful eyes glistened with pride. 

“ Dar ’s good comfort in dat. Miss Leslie,” he 
said. “ ’Pears like de Lord ’s speakin’ froo yer. 
’Pears like I sees John Jasper now, all dressed up 
an’ lookin’ as good as Massa Tom ; yit he ’ll be 
my boy an’ yer boy ; an’ I done reckon dat 
chile won’t leave his eyes off dat gate a-watchin 
fur yer an’ fur me. 


I 06 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


“ De way to Prov’dence is pas’ findin’ out, 
Miss Leslie,” added he, piously rolling his eyes. 
“ Somehow, I don’t look wid no respec’, no more, 
on de Colonel’s op’ra cloak. I feels, somehow 
or nudder, dat ef dat cloak had done his duty, 
dat chile would be tumblin’ downstairs or suthin’, 
dis minute here. I tole Jasper, on Monday, not 
to go out widout puttin’ on de op’ra cloak, fear 
he’d cotch cole in his chist; an’ nowhar could 
he fin’ it. ’Pears sometimes ’s ef dat cloak had 
got legs on to it dat we can’t see, an’ jes’ walked 
itself off an’ hid under tings an’ behin’ tings. 
I shouldn’t never hev foun’ whar it was 
a-hidin’, ef I hedn’t los’ my shoe, an’ I was 
scoochin’ down, lookin’ under ev’ry ting, an’ dar 
was dat op’ra cloak a-squeezin’ in ’tween de wall 
an’ de sofy, whar nobody wouldn’t never hev 
looked fur it. 

“Why, we might hev gone away from dis 
house, an’ never hev foun’ it. Miss Leslie, an’ 
what would de Colonel hev said ? I reckon I 
knows ! ” 

“ O Pomp,” said Leslie, the tears filling her 
beautiful eyes, “don’t wish Jasper back! He’s 
better off than we are.” 

“ Yes,” said Pomp : “ I reckon he ’s better off ; 
an’ yit he was putty good off, when he was 
here. Ef yer count up what folks calls massies, 
he hed mos’ on ’em. He hedn’t no gran’ma’, 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. lO; 


but there ’s a good many folks hain’t. I hain’t 
got no gran’ma, — no, nor no gran’fa’, nuther; 
but I don’ tink much ’bout it, ’cept when I 
hears folks speakin’ on ’em. But how ’ll dis be : 
— John Jasper’s mo’er died when he was a 
little baby. She won’t know him : he won’t 
know her, ’less his gran’ma’ tells him who she is. 
But, den,” said Pomp, falling into confusion in 
his genealogies, as many others have done, his 
gran’ma’ she never seen Jasper! It’s me dat 
hed ought to passed away fust, to hev hed tings 
all straighted up. ’Pears like nothin’ don’t go 
straight, ef I isn’t dar to ’tend to it.” 

“ I reckon things will go right in heaven with- 
out you, Pomp,” said Leslie, with a faint smile , 
*‘but I am sure they wouldn’t here in this family. 
I wish we were like the Douglases. Every thing 
goes so smoothly there, and they are so good 1 
They help poor people, and they go to mission- 
schools.” 

Pomp looked very solemn. 

“ I used to be awful ’ligious,” he said. “ I 
used to go to heaps o’ woods-meetin’s, an’ I hol- 
lered louder ’n any one on ’em. Why, Miss 
Leslie, I was baptized in de Rappahannick, in 
jes’ de spot, in de very water, dat Gen’l Washin’- 
ton was baptized in, — no, ’twasn’t Gen’l Wash- 
in’ton, nuther: ’twas Joyce Heth. I done 
’membei she was Gen’l Washin’ton’s nuss I 


108 THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. 


So I was baptized on hysteric groun’, yei 
see ! 

“ Oh, I got 'ligion, in dem days, so dere wahi’t 
no doin’ nothin’ wid me ; but,” Pomp sighed, I 
ain’t hed no time dese las’ years fur ’ligion. I ’se 
had to see to all o’ yer.” 

“ They all ran away but you,” said Leslie ; 
“ that was when I was very little.” 

“ Yes, dey got free, an’ so dey run off. Dey 
said I was a fool to stay here ; but I ’membered 
what I done promise to ole Missus when she 
was a-dyin’. Says she, ‘ Don’t yer never leave 
Miss Marie, ’cause she ’s hard to git ’long wid, 
an nobody can’t git ’long wid her ’cept jes’ yer.’ 
An’ den de Colonel he got pore, an’ I wa’n’t 
goin’ to clar out when my frien’s gits pore. 
Dat ’s de time when yer wants yer frien 

“ My brudder he ’s in Phil’delphy. He ’s got 
a barber’s shop, an’ he goes out ha’r-dressin’, — 
he can’t do it no better nor I kin, — an’ he makes 
heaps o’ money. He dresses up mighty fine, 
dey says, an’ goes scootin’ round wid a cane, an' 
one o’ dem high-top hats, like Massa Tom’s. 
He ’s putty high in meetin’s, too ! He passes 
de box, an’ he’s one ob de deacons. I ’spect 
he ’ll be powerful high in de kingdom. But de 
good Lord he ’ll ’cuse me, I ’spect ; fur I can’t 
git no time to be ’ligious, — dar ’s suthin’ to do 
allers. I don’t seem to git froo. 


THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. I09 


“ When we gits settled agin, I must look up 
my ’ligion. I ain’t kep’ but a little on’t, — jes’ 
to say my pra’ers, an’ do my duty, an’ love de 
Lord an’ ev’rybody, — dat is, ev’rybody ’cept — 
’cept Massa Cavello ; but, den, he don’t ’mount 
to much.” 

“ I think that is pretty much the whole of re- 
ligion,” said Leslie. “ It always comforts me to 
know that you pray for us, Pomp ; and I ’m sure 
nobody in the world is so unselfish as you.” 

“ Oh, I ain’t onselfish,” said Pomp. “ I hasn’t 
never done tings fur folks. I hasn’t visited ’em 
in prison, an’ I hasn’t gin clo’es to nobody, an* 
I hain’t fed nobody what was hungry, — ’cept de 
boys, of course : dey ’s ben hungry times ’nuf, 
an’ I ’se put dere clo’es on times ’nuf, too. 

“ Now jes’ look at dat kittle ! ” cried Pomp. 
“ I can’t talk to nobody, but dat kittle gits so 
res’less an’ biles over, pokin’ up de kiver like he 
couldn’t wait tell I gits dar ! ” 

“ Pomp ! ” cried Clarence, coming to the stairs. 

Hurry up there ! I ’m ’most starved to death. 
Isn’t supper ’most ready ? ” 

Well,” said Leslie, rising, “ I almost wish I 
was where Jasper is. What ’s the use of being 
raised, to wish, half the time, you hadn’t been 
born ? ” 

Pomp wiped his tears away. 

“ Nobody hasn’t ben sayin’ any ting to yer 


no THE COLO N EH S OPERA CLOAK. 


has he?” he asked, nodding his head in the di- 
rection of Mr. Cavello’s room. “ I hes set Massa 
Tom off for you ! I wishes de Colonel would 
come back an’ see to dat nigger, — for I 'spect 
he ain’t nothin’ else, — a-passin’ hisself off for a 
gent’man.” 

Mr. Cavello had been missing, while little Jas- 
per lay dead in the house ; and he now crossed 
himself as he passed the parlor door. 

Leslie despised him. What a mean, contempt- 
ible little soul he had ! How noble Tom’s was ! 
But, then, of course there was no one so kind, 
so good, so handsome, so generous, so learned 
as Tom ! She could only gaze upon him from 
afar : he could never care any thing for a girl 
like her. 

She thrilled with pain, as she compared herself 
with Miss Henderson, about whom she had heard 
Bessie tease him, and who made her feel so stupid. 
Every thing about Miss Henderson spoke out: 
the very ruffles plumed themselves, and hinted 
at the shabby frills on Leslie’s dress. Her eyes 
said, “See how bright we are ! ” and her smile, 
“ How gracious I am ! ” When she played, her 
white hands cried, “ Listen ! did you ever hear 
such music ’ ” and, when she ceased playing, she 
s.ipped so gracefully into her place, sometimes 
saying, “ I ’m glad you enjoy it : it is one of my 
favorite sonatas. How it recalls those heavenly 
evenings in Heidelberg ! ” 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. Ill 


Poor Leslie ! she didn’t know where Heidel- 
berg was. When she finished her simple songs, 
her cheeks got red, and she wanted to put her 
face in her hands. She wished she was a fine 
young lady, like Miss Henderson, 

Pomp had said he had set Tom off for her ; 
and, although she smiled when she thought of it, 
it comforted her. 


1 12 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


CHAPTER VII. 

'' I' 'HE warm weather came that year all at 
once. Mrs. St. John bloomed into life 
fvith the flowers, and left her bed when they 
arose from theirs. 

She sent Leslie for patterns of muslins and 
tissues ; and dress-makers and seamstresses 
thronged the house. Her listless manner passed 
away, and she fell enthusiastically into the dis- 
cussion of flounces, frills, side-plaiting, and box- 
plaiting. 

The Colonel had sent home more money lately, 
and they had been able to have new clothes and 
a better table, and had paid fewer bills. Mrs. 
St. John sent the Doctor an elegant dressing- 
gown, — he had two already, — and to Mrs. Doug- 
las fresh flowers every day, but took no more 
notice of the Doctor’s bill than if it had never 
been sent. One May morning the sun poured 
down as hot as in July ; and, cheerful and amia;^ 
ble and handsome, Mrs. St. John announced that 
she was going out of town with Pomp, to engage 


THE COLONEL OPERA CLOAK, II3 


summer board. She had heard of a place in the 
country which was just the thing. 

The proprietor of the hotel was quite struck 
by the appearance of this elegant Southern lady, 
attended by a colored servant ; and he exerted 
himself to please her. 

She must have all large rooms, and they must 
all be on the front, and they must open into each 
other. Two large rooms on the front were al- 
ready engaged ; but she said the people must 
take some other rooms ; they couldn’t expect, if 
they only took two, to have a choice situation ; 
she wanted five large rooms. The polite land- 
lord said he would see the “ other party,” and 
try to arrange the matter. Mrs. St. John in- 
quired particularly about the table, and looked 
critically over the bill of fare. 

She did not demur at the high price, but left 
her decision hanging on the withdrawal of the 
“ other persons.” 

After three days, during which time the land- 
lord had interviewed the “ party,” he wrote to 
her that he had lost the people who had the 
front rooms, but considered it best to let them 
go, as her family was so large, and wanted so 
many apartments. 

Mrs. St. John dropped the letter behind her 
bed, after reading it. “That horrid Yankee ! ” 
she said. “ As if I didn’t know where I wanted 

o 


1 14 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 


to go ! ” And she decided now to go to the 
sea-shore. 

After a few days, the man wrote again, and 
then again ; and, receiving no answer, he went 
humbly to the “ other party,” and coaxed him 
back at a reduced price. 

Mrs. St. John and Pomp took a trip to the 
sea shore. The hotel was a very fine one, built 
on rocks directly overlooking the sea. 

The rooms were nearly all engaged ; but she 
made the landlord turn people in and out, and 
finally arranged to go on the first of July, with all 
her family, for the summer. 

She wrote to the Colonel that she was going 
there to get Leslie off ; that his horrid friend was 
making love to her all the time, and wouldn’t 
look at Leslie ; and that the Doctor’s son did not 
commit himself, although she had given him 
chances every day in the week and Sundays 
beside ; for she made Leslie go to church, and 
had taken a seat for her right in front of the 
Douglases; and she had tried to induce her to 
take a class in the mission-school where Tom 
taught ; but Leslie was so stubborn, and said she 
didn’t know enough to teach, — as if that made 
any difference ! Now she should give her a last 
chance. 

The amiable Colonel, who was sojourning in 
St. Louis, talking of claims and institutions, 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


IJ5 


and the poor, homeless, wandering, unhappy mil- 
lions ot the colored race, and of the blue blood 
and untrammelled spirits of the chivalry, — but 
who had smiles for Northern land-purchasers, and 
good-humoredly ate their dinners, — replied that 
her idea was a good one, but not to let the little 
girl marry any fellow who would be unkind to 
her. 

The first of July came, and the family set off 
for the Elden House, in high spirits. Mr. Cavello 
had gone to a neighboring city to dine with a 
friend ; and Mrs. St. John had neglected to tell 
him what day she was going ; or, rather, she 
decided to go while he was away. 

The boys were all in new suits ; Leslie wore 
a dark blue flannel dress and a sailor hat ; and 
Pomp was arrayed in some “ clo’es he foun’ roun’ 
de house.” And the carriage came, the man- 
sion was closed, and away they went. 

Mr. Cavello, returning at dusk, was dismayed 
at the deserted air of the house, where the wim 
dows had always blazed with light. He rang the 
bell : the handle came off, — it came off so easily I 
— and then he pounded, and then he kicked. 
He went to the basement door ; but for once the 
curtains were down and silence reigned. A ser- 
vant near by, seeing his despair, told him that 
the family all went off at noon, and that the 
black man said they wouldn’t be back for a good 
many weeks. 


ri6 THE COLONEL’S OPERA CLOAK, 


Mr. Cavello was in a rage. He struck his 
tliin wisp of a cane on the sidewalk, until it 
broke. He raved in his native tongue, and, 
judging from his manner, his language was strong 
and pointed. 

But he had to go away unsatisfied. He could 
find no “ open sesame.” 

The first week of the St.‘ Johns’ stay at the 
Elden House had passed, when Mrs. St. John 
wrote to Bessie and Tom, inviting them to visit 
her. 

Bessie did not care to go . she said that she 
was afraid of the opera cloak. Mrs. Douglas 
remarked that she thought Tom would be a 
brave young man to visit the St. Johns, and 
make himself responsible, as it were, for them. 
Tom declared that he was brave, and that life 
had been dull since the opera cloak left town ; 
and he thought he would run down Thursday 
night, and see how it was getting on. 

When the coach drove up to the hotel piazza 
that Thursday, it was about six o'clock. Ladies 
who had gentlemen were promenading the piazza, 
and ladies who expected them were standing 
about the door waiting. 

When Tom jumped out, he noticed at once 
a pretty girl. It was Leslie, but so changed ! 
She had been driving, and wore her blue flannel 
dress and sailor hat. The hat was pushed back. 


THE COLONEL OPERA CLOAK. 


sailor-fashion, on her head, and her hair was 
ruffled by the wind. She had wild flowers in 
her hand. She came up, smiling and blushing. 

“ I am so sorry I was late ! I went to drive 
with Mr. Merrill, and have only just returned 
I wanted to dress before you came.” 

Tom took one instant to hate Mr. Merrill, and 
then he wondered what celestial raiment, what 
purple and fine linen, could be found to make 
this beautiful being more beautiful. He could 
not believe that this was the Leslie who had 
worn her aunt’s clothes and Clarence’s boots, — 
she was so charming, so stylish ! Well, if Tom 
had come down with even the little pointed end 
of his heart untouched, or one of the scallops at 
the top, it must have given way now ! 

Mrs. St. John came to meet him with great 
cordiality ; and Arthur and Wilfrid and Clarence 
said it was “ high old jolly ” to see him again, 
and, when they heard of Mr. Cavello’s attempt 
to get into the house, they fairly jumped up and 
down in delight. 

Mrs. St. John was so handsome, and her 
clothes were so elegant, and her niece was so 
lovely, that the family were very popular at the 
hotel ; and Tom saw, with pride and fear, that 
Leslie was the most attractive girl in the house. 

There was to be a hop that evening, and Tom 
was to come to Mrs. St. John’s door at eight 


iS THE COLONEL’S OPERA CLOAK. 


o’clock, to take her and Leslie downstairs. 
But an old beau, of the kind which belongs to 
every summer hotel, with gray hair and pink 
cheeks, MacVickar by name, came, with all his 
soul in his eyes, — his eyes were small, but he 
put all his soul into them, — to beg the honor of 
taking Mrs. St. John down ; and so Leslie was 
left for Tom. 

Leslie had never seen any thing, and had never 
been anywhere, except for a short time to a third- 
rate boarding-school ; and she thought that now 
she was in Paradise. She did not have to pin 
her dress-waists over ; her boots fitted her ; and 
everybody was so lovely and kind and beautiful ! 

Mrs. St. John had let slip a word about the great 
responsibility of having a young heiress and a 
beauty on her hands : fortune-hunters were so 
plenty, and artists and other fellows without 
money took so kindly to a rich and handsome 
girl, that her aunt must of necessity lead a life of 
watchfulness, and sleep with one eye open. 

All this summer, life was of rose-color for Leslie. 
She walked, she drove, she kissed all the babies, 
she told stories to the children, who pursued her 
all over the house. She was engaged days in 
advance for croquet ; and the light-haired, weak 
little son of the rich Mr. Tileson begged for a 
game a week ahead, and asked her, from the top 
of the stage, to wear his colors — a magenta ril> 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. II9 


bon — in her button-hole until he returned. The 
handsome cadet from West Point wrecked his 
best suit by cutting gilt buttons from it to string 
upon little Tileson’s red ribbon ; and Mr. Bennett, 
who had been crossed in love by the young lady 
who sat on the rocks all day and sketched “ the 
sea, the lone, dark sea,” asked Leslie to let him 
carry her fan, to make the mermaid jealous ; and 
Leslie was sorry for him, and made the young 
lady very jealous. The old gentlemen admired 
Leslie : she opened their papers for them ; and 
for the gouty old fellow who sat next her at the 
table she saved the choice bits of lobster, and 
made believe she liked legs best. When Mrs. 
Morris begged the little Stevenses not to drag 
their tin carts up and down the piazza under her 
windows, Leslie promised them a splendid story 
“ that long,” if they ’d stay on the' lawn. She 
seemed instinctively to know how to get into 
people’s hearts. 

Old Mr. Morris used to laugh at the shells 
and buttons she wore on her ribbon, and called 
it her scalp-string. 

Would eight o’clock never come } Some peo- 
ple think hours measure alike. It is not so ; 
happy hours are cut short, that weary ones may 
be lengthened. 

Leslie had been ready for an hour. Pomp was 
on his knees before Mrs. St. John, lacing her 


120 7 HE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


boots. She asked Leslie to peep out, and see if 
Mr. MacVickar was waiting, and to go out if he 
was. Leslie said no, but that Mr. Tom was 
there. “ Then go and walk with him,” said Mrs. 
St. John. 

Leslie wore a white dotted muslin, made in 
the simplest way. It was high in the neck, with 
a little ruche, and had elbow-sleeves with ruffles, 
and a long, plain skirt, ruffled around the bot- 
tom. Mrs. St. John had put on the finishing 
touch by adding a scarlet crape sash, and put- 
ting a bit of geranium in her hair. She wore 
white slippers and long gloves ; and a fan of 
white feathers was tied to her waist by a scar- 
let ribbon. 

Tom caught his breath, when this vision of 
loveliness appeared before him. 

“ Don’t I look right smart } ” said Leslie. 
“ Isn’t this dress pretty } ” 

“ Why, I never saw any thing like it in my 
life ! ” said the young fellow, forgetting Gertrude 
Henderson’s French dresses, which he had once 
fidmired so much. 

“ I don’t know as you ’ll go down with me, 
Miss Leslie. I haven’t a dress suit here. You 
didn’t tell me there was to be a hop ; and I ’m 
no dancing man, any way,” added Tom. 

“ I don’t know how to dance, either,” said Les- 
lie, taking his offered arm, while they slowly 


rHE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 121 


promenaded through the long hall. I kno\v 
the ‘ Lancers/ and pieces of other dances ; but 
I reckon I can get through. Can’t you dance 
at all } ” 

“ I can dance the * Lancers ’ or a cotillion, ' 
said Tom, “if I am with somebody who is good 
to me, and tells me in time when I am to make 
a courtesy, and the dame to make a bow.” 

“ Oh, I know enough to tell that,” said Les 
lie, “ so you ’d better dance with me. Hark ! 
they are tuning their music. Let ’s walk on the 
piazza.” 

The night was soft and clear; all the little 
stars had come out ; the great, dark sea stretched 
far away ; and the light-house lantern flashed 
and disappeared, as Leslie and Tom, arm-in-arm, 
watched it from the piazza, where they stood 
alone. 

Old Cannon Rock was booming, as the incom- 
ing tide rushed into its sounding caverns. A 
row-boat was moving through the water: they 
could hear soft voices, and see the water fall in 
golden rain from the oars. 

“I wonder,” said Leslie, leaning her head 
against a pillar, “if everybody is not perfectly, 
perfectly happy, sometimes.” 

“ I hope so, with all my heart,” said Tom, 
wondering whether his day was coming. 

“ Because,” continued Leslie, “ I think people 


122 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 


could bear to be hungry, and cold, and not have 
people care any thing for them, and have things 
go wrong all the time, — if they were only per- 
fectly happy once. If it was when they were 
young, they could say in the horrid days, ‘ I ’ve 
been happy once, and it was good enough to pay 
for these times ; ’ or, if all their lives had been 
very hard and- uncomfortable, they could say, 
when the perfectly happy days came, ‘This pays 
for it all/ Do you believe it is so ? " 

“ I don’t know,” said Tom. “ It seems as if 
some people never had their day. Have you 
ever been perfectly happy } ” 

“ Yes,” said Leslie, hesitatingly : “ I am almost 
perfectly happy to-night.” 

“ What makes you happy } Because you are 
going to a dance, and there ’s to be some fellow 
there that you want to see ? ” 

“ I 'd like to murder him ! ” added Tom, to 
himself. 

Leslie didn’t say a word : she only looked out 
to sea. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Tom, coldly. “ I 
had no business to ask that.” 

“ Oh, yes, you had,” said Leslie’s soft voice ; 
“and, if you hadn’t, no matter. I never mind, 
if people are only kind to me, what they say ; 
and you have been kinder to me than almost 
anybody 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, I23 


“ What good fortune for me, that the Colonel’s 
business detained him over to-night ! ” said Mr. 
MacVickar’s thin voice to Mrs. St. John, as 
they came upon the two young people stand- 
ing in the moonlight. Old fool ! ” said Tom, 
in a low tone. 

“ ‘ Or when the moon was overhead, 

Came two young lovers lately wed,* ’* 

Mr. MacVickar added, waving his hand grace- 
fully. “ Ha ! ha ! Not exactly appropriate, but 
we hope it will be ! And what will the other 
adorers say to this. Miss Leslie, — Mr. Merrill, 
and Mr. Tileson, and the host who bend the 
knee .? ” 

Tom could gladly have flung Mr. MacVickar 
into the sea. The two passed on. 

“Well,” said Tom, trying to re-establish the 
conversation, and wanting to hear Leslie repeat 
her words. “ I was never kind to you. I only 
wish I could be. If there was any thing I could 
do to make you not almost, but perfectly” — 

They both started. A man hung suspended 
in the air before them. Leslie caught Tom’s 
hand in terror. He threw his arm about her ; 
when a wicked giggle sounded from the piazza 
roof, and the man began to dance about, flapping 
his legs in the air. 

“ Say, Leslie, we ’ve heard all you said, — te^ 
he, he, he, he ! and all your beau said ! ” 


124 the COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


The man flopped about. He was a pair ot 
pantaloons, a pillow, a hat, and the Colonel’s 
opera cloak ; and he was suspended by the neck 
by a cord, and jiggled according to the fancy of 
his creators. 

Leslie was ready to cry. Tom caught the 
hanging man, and nearly jerked the young, un- 
trammelled spirits of the chivalry into early 
graves ! They held on to the little railing above, 
and howled. 

“ You shut up, there ! You can’t get Leslie ! 
She ’s going to marry Mr. Merrill, — so, there ! 
Ain’t you sweet on Leslie, — taking her to 
ride and dumping her in a mud-puddle ? — te, 
he, te, he ! ” 

The band struck up. The dancers took their 
places. Leslie beat time to the music with her 
foot. 

“ Let us go in and look on, it is so bright and 
merry,” said she, ashamed and frightened. “ You 
won’t mind what the boys said, will you ? I am 
so sorry ! They say any thing when they are 
teasing me.” 

I don’t mind any thing they say : it only 
what you say that I mind,” replied Tom. 

“ Come,” said the young girl, hurrying him on. 
“ I do wish the boys wouldn’t tease me so.” 

As they stepped into the light, Tom saw tears 
on her long lashes ; and his manner softened. 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 1 25 


“ Never mind/’ said he : we don’t care what 
they say.” 

His tone comforted her, and she went happily 
into the hall on his arm. 

Mrs. St. John was quite in her element. Mr. 
MacVickar leaned over her chair and fanned her. 
Mr. Norton, who had only arrived that night, had 
begged to be introduced ; and he now had the 
honor of holding her bouquet. Mr. Gray asked 
why she had been so selfish as to find occupation 
for only two admirers. Hadn’t she another fan, 
or couldn’t the bouquet be divided } Mrs. St. 
John said she would allow him to button her 
glove ; and his face glowed with joy at her con- 
descension. 

Tom made so many mistakes in the “ Lan 
cers” that Leslie could not keep him in order. 
She tried to dance a cotillion with the “ defender 
of his country,” as Mr. MacVickar styled the 
handsome little innocent from West Point ; but 
she laughed so often at her own mistakes, that her 
partner became a little vexed, and thought that 
she was laughing at him. What in creation had 
her family been thinking of, not to teach her to 
dance ! He shuddered at the thought of such 
ignorance in a civilized and Christian country, 
and wished he had his shiny buttons back. 

Mrs. Morris, who peeped in through the win- 
liows from the piazza, wondered how it happened 


126 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 


that the people all looked like the very ones she 
had seen, season after season, at hotel hops. 
There were the weary old ladies, who hid theii 
yawns behind their fans, and who only served as 
stations to run the young ladies back to. They 
looked so much alike, that Miss Annie or Miss 
Fannie had to say, as her escort confidently took 
her to the wrong old lady, “ Oh, no, this one is not 
my mamma ! ” 

The music was fine ; and, as Tom and Leslie 
had come to grief in their dancing, they went 
again to the piazza, passing on their way Mr. 
MacVickar, who said, — 

“ What 1 going to add two other stars to 
night ? ” 

A hop isn’t as nice as I thought it would be,’* 
said Leslie, wrapped up in somebody’s shawl, 
which Tom had pilfered on his way out. If it 
really meant its name, I ’d like it. I like to laugh 
when I dance, and to feel that I am having a 
good time. All those people looked so solemn, 
and as if they were to blame. It made me laugh 
to see them.” 

“ There is only one thing that is nice about a 
hop, to me,” said Tom ; “and that is to walk on 
the piazza in the moonlight, with the music and 
the sound of the sea in my ears, and a pretty 
girl who ” — 

“ How do you do. Miss Leslie ! ” said Mrs, 


niE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 1 27 


Morris from the shadow. “Are you enjoying the 
hop ? I must thank you for rescuing me to-day 
from those little Stevenses. When I have a 
headache, their shrill voices scalp me. And 
those tin carts ! They are instructed to trundle 
them under my window, I ’m convinced. Why 
do they never play under their mother’s ? ” 

Leslie laughed, and introduced Tom to the 
lady ; and then Mr. Tileson came, pale and timid, 
to remind Miss Leslie that she had promised to 
promenade with him, as she didn’t waltz. 

Tom wanted to slap the little fellow between 
his hands, like a mosquito. It didn’t seem like 
murder to kill any thing so thin. 

The supper hall was bright with flags. To 
Leslie’s fresh eyes, it was like a scene in the 
“Arabian Nights.” With her, it was the Thou- 
sand and One Nights all in one ; for Tom had 
walked boldly up to little Mr. Tileson, and offered 
Leslie his arm as if she belonged to him, and Les- 
lie had taken it as if she did. Mr. Tileson had 
let her go, smiling feebly, and then wondered 
why he had let her go. 

Tom was splendid. He found just the things 
Leslie liked, and sent a waiter with them to the 
piazza, where they had “ another little tea-party.” 
Leslie said this was “just for twice and what 
a queer, lovely, funny, dreadful time that other 
tea-party in the country was ! and now, with hei 


128 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


pretty clothes, she felt like a girl in a story, and 
he was like a gentleman in a story. 

“ The hero and heroine } " asked Tom. 

Leslie laughed, and said, “ No : there is an 
elegant young lady whose initials are ‘G. H.,’ 
who is the heroine.” 

“ And a man, called Tileson, is the hero for 
the other lady, perhaps,” said Tom. 

Leslie said that if he were to belong to her, 
she would put a dress and bonnet on him, and 
call him Miss Tileson. 

“ I ’m tired, Leslie,” said little Clarence, run- 
ning up to her, and laying his head on her 
shoulder. Won’t you take me to bed ? I ’m 
afraid, in this big house, and I can’t keep awake 
any longer.” 

“ Where is Pomp ? ” asked Tom. “ He ’ll pu.t 
you to bed.” 

“ I want Leslie,” said Clarence, defiantly. 

Leslie arose. 

“ I ’ll put him to bed, and then come back,” 
she said. But it was a long time before she 
came, for Clarence wanted a song and a story ; 
and then it was time for Mrs. St. John to be 
tired, and so Leslie had to go with her, of 
course. 

“ Don’t sing any of your songs to these fellows 
here,” said Tom, in a low tone, as he bade her 
good-night, nodding over his shoulder into the 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 129 


ball-room. “Save them for another *just for 
this time/ won’t you ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Leslie. And then she gave him 
her little hand, and said, “ Good-night ; ” and Tom 
saw her white dress sweep up the stairs. 

He decided that he was tired enough to go in 
now. 

It is surprising how the music clashes, how 
the lights grow dim and the people stupid, 
the minute “ the only girl in the world ” is taken 
away by her hard-hearted chaperone. 

But there was a morning coming. 


130 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


CHAPTER VIIL 



HE next morning Mrs. St. John told Pomp 


to keep the boys away from Leslie and 
Tom ; but the poor old fellow had his hands 
more than full to obey her orders. 

Wilfrid and Clarence viewed Tom with that 
intense admiration which boys so often feel for 
a “ grown-up fellow ; ” and Arthur looked on him 
tenderly as Bessie’s brother, and amused Mr. 
Morris by saying that he knew how Tom felt,—' 
he had been there himself. 

Leslie and Tom sat on the breezy side of the 
broad piazza, away from the group of ladies who 
had their fancy-work out and were listening to 
Mrs. Stevens as she read aloud. 

“ I am afraid I am very lazy,” said Leslie, look- 
ing at her idle hands ; “but I don’t seem to care 
for fancy-work, and I have no real work to do. 
Pomp does the mending.” 

“There ’s a great deal of nonsense about fan- 
cy-work,” said Tom. “ I think it is far more 
sensible to sit still and do nothing, than to play 


THK COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. 131 


at work in that way. Gertrude Henderson bears 
oif the palm for that sort of thing. I ’m glad 
Bessie never took to it. You are the kind of 
girl that would take hold of real work, and do it 
well, if you needed to. Any thing you were 
interested in, and thought you ought to do, you 
would do.” 

“ Would I ? ” said Leslie, very much pleased 
with Tom’s discovery “ Oh, I ’d rather have you 
say that than any thing! I’d like to be just 
like Bessie. She makes such lovely cake and 
jelly ; and she trims her own bonnets; and then 
she can play on the piano and speak French, 
besides. The only thing I can do is hoe-cake,’^ 
she added. “ I ’ve seen Pomp make that times 
enough to know how. But I can only play on 
the” — She stopped and blushed. 

“ On what } ” asked Tom, smiling. “ On a 
jewsharp, or an accordion .? Out with it, Miss 
Leslie.” 

“ On something worse,” she replied. “ But I 
don’t want to let you know : you ’ll think it 
so unlady-like.” 

“ You couldn’t do any thing unlady-like,” said 
Tom, looking into her eyes. 

“ Well, then,” said Leslie, “ I sing negro songs 
with the banjo.” 

Tom burst out laughing. 

“Is that all .^ ” he asked. “You must bring 


132 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


your banjo out, when we go back to town, and 
sing for me. Why, I 'd rather have my — I ’d 
rather hear you sing with a banjo than anything 
I can think of in the way of music.” 

‘‘ Oh, would you } ” said Leslie, much relieved. 
“ I thought you would think it was dreadful. 
1 will sing for you as much as you like. I know 
heaps of songs.” 

Clarence appeared at this moment, dragging a 
chair after him, and stationed himself in front of 
them, saying nothing, but gazing earnestly into 
their faces. He fairly stretched his eyes open 
so as not to wink, for fear of losing something. 

From a conversation he had heard between his 
mother and Pomp, he had gathered that some- 
thing remarkable was to happen that morning, 
and he meant to be “ in at the death.” 

Just now Pomp peeped round the corner of 
the piazza. 

“ Massa Clar’nce,” he called, in a loud whisper, 
* I wants to speak to yer.” 

“You don’t neither,” said Clarence. “You 
want to get me in, and I shan’t go.” 

“ I ’se got some cake fur yer.” 

“I don’t want your old cake! You needn’t 
roll your old eyes round at me I I ain’t doing 
any thing, am I, Leslie .? You think Leslie don’t 
want me to hear her talk with Mr. Douglas. 
They ain’t talking about any thing but music, 

e you, Leslie ? ” 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 1 33 


Poor Leslie ! She did not know what to say. 

“ Clarence, come here. I want to speak to 
you,” called his mother. 

I ain’t doing any thing to them,” he replied, 
in a fretful voice. 

The ladies at the other end of the piazza ex- 
changed glances, and smiled. 

“ Clarence, come to me this moment ! ” Mrs. 
St. John’s voice was getting a little shrill. 

Clarence rose, dragging his feet heavily after 
him, and pouting. 

“ I can’t hear a word they say, — not a single 
word,” he whimpered. “ He didn’t come down 
just to see Leslie, I ’ll bet : did you, Mr. Doug- 
las.?” 

“No, I came to see you,” said Tom ; “ and, it 
you had stayed on that chair a little longer, I 
should have been able to see a good deal of you. 
Come here, I want to speak to you.” 

Tom’s whispered communication had the de- 
sired effect, for Clarence soon disappeared in the 
bowling-alley. 

The little boy whom he paid, with unusual 
liberality, for setting up the pins, asked him if 
that “ city swell ” was his uncle. 

Clarence said no, but he guessed he would be. 
pretty soon, when he married Leslie. 

“ He ’ll be your cousin, then,” said the boy. 

“ He won’t either,” replied Clarence : “ he ’s 


134 the COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


too old to be my cousin, I tell you. Leslie ’s my 
cousin.” 

Soon Tom and Leslie set out for a walk. 

“ Mr. Douglas ! ” Clarence called out. “ What 
kind of a walk are you going on, — a long one or 
a short one ? ” 

Oh, a verj/ long one,” said Tom, in a tone of 
discouragement. 

“ Then I ’ll go with you,” said Clarence, cheer- 
fully. “ That ’s just the kind of a walk I want 
to take.” 

“ Hallo ! Massa Clar’nce,” cried Pomp. “ Yer 
ma says how she wants yer. She ’s got suthin’ 
fur yer.” 

Clarence was becoming wrathful under this 
constant surveillance, to which he was not accus- 
tomed. He aimed a stone at Pomp, who beat 
a hasty retreat. 

At this moment, Wilfrid, who was driving with 
a stable-boy, saw the party, jumped out of the 
carriage, and joined them. 

“ Clarence, come along ! ” he whispered. “ I 
want to tell you something. Say, we ’ll make 
fun of them.” 

Tom had put Leslie’s hand through his arm, 
and now Wilfrid offered his arm to Clarence. 
He leaned toward him, he whispered to him, and 
finally Tom and Leslie were startled by a series 
of loud kisses behind them. 


TfJE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK 1 35 


They turned in time to see the little rascals 
‘ taking them off.” 

Tom was angry, but he couldn’t help laughing. 
Wilfrid was looking very stern, and Clarence 
was mincing his steps, “lady-fashion,” and had 
his mouth pursed up: “like Leslie’s,” he said. 

Poor Leslie was almost crying. 

“ Don’t mind the boys,” said Tom. “ What 
do we care for their nonsense ? ” 

After this there were no butterflies to chase, 
no birds to stone. The boys walked beside the 
two young people, paying strict attention to 
every word. 

Tom thought the Evil One had engaged their 
services for that morning. 

Late in the afternoon there was to be a sail- 
ing-party. 

They all went down to the wharf, and stood 
about, waiting while Uncle Peter was hoisting 
his sail. 

Leslie knew Uncle Peter. He lived in a 
neighboring fishing village, with his daughter-in- 
law, Lany. His business in summer was to take 
the hotel people out on the water in his boat, 
which he called the “ Mary Adny,” after a boat 
he had heard of which “beat” in a Fourth of 
July race “down to New Bedford.” 

Leslie was a great favorite of his. She was 


136 THE COLONEL'S OF EE A CLOAK. 


never sea-sick, and she never screamed in the 
boat 

Mr. MacVickar was the general escort. Little 
Mr. Tileson flirted with Miss Wilder, to make 
Leslie jealous ; but he only made her grateful. 

Tom had provided money for Wilfrid and 
Clarence to go to the village for fishing-rods and 
lines, and had thus procured a quiet afternoon 
for himself, and frustrated the plans of the arch- 
enemy. 

Miss Wilder wore a white veil, which reached 
to her nose, white gloves, a blue flannel dress 
trimmed with broad white braid, — that was the 
sailor part of the costume, — and carried a para- 
sol lined with pink. She held a larger veil, in 
which to entwine her head when she should 
fairly have set sail, lest a sunbeam or a breeze 
should strike her too roughly. 

Leslie’s sailor hat was pushed off from her 
face: it was certainly very little protection to 
her. 

“ Why don’t you follow that young lady’s 
example,” asked Tom, in an undertone, “and 
wear a veil, to save your complexion } ” 

“ Oh, I love to feel the wind,” replied Leslie. 
“ I can’t breathe with a veil on. I only get 
a little darker : that doesn’t matter. Miss 
Wilder is a grand young lady, — she ’s a belle, 
they say, — and I am — only Leslie,” 


THE COLONEHS OPERA LEOAK. 1 3; 


She said this so sweetly, that Tom wanted to 
embrace her on the spot, though the assembled 
world should behold ; but he was prevented by 
" an armful of shawls and parasols, not to mention 
the opera cloak, which Pomp at the last moment 
had slyly intrusted to his charge, ‘^so as Miss 
Leslie won’t cotch no cold when de night 
damps comes along ; ” and, besides, Leslie had 
^already jumped aboard. 

The boat was rather crowded. So, after they 
had pushed off, Leslie and Tom went up before 
the mast, where there was just room for two to 
stand. 

The air was sweet ; there was a fresh breeze. 
The “ Mary Adny ” flew along as well as if her 
name had been spelled right. The little reefing- 
j lines, striking on the sail, made a sound like 
light rain. The pennant fluttered. 

Where were care and trouble ! Not a cloud 
was in the sky. It was a summer sea. 

“ Play there is no one here, and sing that 
little sea song,” said Tom, — “ the first one I 
ever heard you sing. What a dear little song 
that is ! This is just the place for it.” 

“ ‘ There was a little white cloud in the sky,' " 

sang Leslie. 

Instantly there was quiet in the party. 

Why, what a lovely song that is. Miss Les- 


138 7 HE COLONEL^S OPERA CLOAK. 


lie ! ” cried Mr. MacVickar, when she had finished 
it, clapping with one of his forefingers upon the 
other. “ Why have we never heard that siren 
voice before } ” 

“ You could hear it any time,” said Leslie, “ if 
you listened at the door when I put Clarence to 
bed. I sing to him every night.” 

“ And why waste on that small boy what some 
larger boys would purchase dearly ? ” 

Leslie laughed. 

“ O Miss Wilder,” she said to the young lady 
with the pink parasol, ‘‘ do sing ! I heard you 
one night in the parlor, when you did not know 
I was listening.” 

“ Oh, do ! ” they all urged. 

But Miss Wilder could not be persuaded. 

“ Oh, I never sing before strangers,” she said. 
“ I sometimes warble a few wild notes for Papa. 
That is all.” 

Then they begged Leslie to go on. 

She sang several songs, until Tom said she 
would injure her voice in the open air. 

“ Leslie,” whispered Mrs. Morris, “ stir Uncle 
Peter up. Make him talk.” 

Very little “ stirring ” brought him to the sur- 
face. 

“Wasn’t it hot this morning. Uncle Peter!” 
said Leslie, turning around to him. 

" Wal.” said he, “ it wan t what I call hot. Ef 


THE COLON EH S OPERA CLOAK. 139 


yer’d ben in the teriid zone, when yer felt as ef 
yer was in a biler o’ hot water all day, yer’d 
know what hot was. 

“ Folks is more contr’y on weather ’n on any 
thin’ else. When it ’s hot, they want it cold ; 
an’ when it ’s cold, they want it hot. I s’pose 
they ’d like it lewkwarm all the time.” 

“ What do you call cold weather. Uncle Peter } ” 
asked Tom. 

“ I call cold weather when yer wear a coat o 
ice all over yer, every one o’ the hairs on yer 
head ’s an eyecicle, an’ ye ’r sort o’ cased in ice.” 

“ Where in the world did you get covered in that 
way ? In the North Sea ? ” asked Mrs. Morris. 

No, marm. It was down to Nantucket, 
when I was a young feller. I went out to help 
git men off a sinkin’ ship, an’ that ’s the way I 
looked when I got home. I looked putty queer, 
the wimmin-folks said.” 

“ Did you save the men ? ” 

Yes.” 

“ How many ? ” 

« Eight.” 

‘‘How many men went with you, Uncle 
Peter .? ” 

“ Two, — my father an' my brother.” 

> “ Wasn’t it dangerous ? ” 

> “ Yes.” 

“And you saved the lives of eight men! It 


140 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


was a shame the Humane Society didn’t give you 
a medal.” 

They did ! Bob yer heads, — bob yer heads, 
— the sail ’s goin’ over,” said Uncle Peter. 

It was a fine place where Leslie stood with 
Tom. They did not have to notice the sail, and 
it seemed as if they two, standing side by side, 
impelled the boat forward, and were going on 
and on, up the shining track, into a land of 
sunshine. 

“ Oh,” said Leslie, taking a long breath, I 
should like to be a sailor. Shouldn’t I make a 
good sailor, Uncle Peter } ” 

“ Oh, splendid ! ” said he, with a scornful 
laugh. “Yer wouldn’t want to go more ’n one 
crewse, I cal’late. How long would yer stick it 
out on a wrack ! How would yer like gittin’ 
soaked through, for one thing } ” 

“ Oh, I don’t mind that ! I ’ve tried it,” 
said Leslie, looking at Tom, and laughing. 

“ She wouldn’t make no kind of a fisherman, 
anyhow,” said Uncle Peter, addressing the com- 
pany. “ The day she went blew-fishin’, she 
a’ most cried ’cause I hedn’t a hetchet to cut off 
the fishes’ heads ’fore I pitched ’em into the 
berri]. She ’sdrefful tender-hearted. She couldn’t 
never put no bait on.” 

“ I could bait for frogs,” said Leslie, laughing, 
“ because they use red flannel for that.” 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 14I 


‘"Sho!” said Uncle Peter. “That ain't so! 
I never heered on to it.” 

“ I think the very wickedest and meanest 
thing I ever heard,” said Leslie, earnestly, “ is 
the way they shoot gulls. They have a boat 
sunk close down to the water s edge, near the 
shore, and they put branches all around it to 
make it look like the ground ; and then they 
wave a white handkerchief to the poor birds, 
who think it is a friend that wants to speak to 
them, and they come hurrying down out of the 
sky, and, just as they get near, the great horrid 
man jumps up out of his hiding-place and shoots 
the poor things.” 

“ I wonder if ‘ gulling ’ people come from 
that } ” asked Mrs. Morris. 

“ Undotibtedly it comes from something,” said 
Mr. MacVickar, “and why not from that } ” 

“ Now we are going to run through the nar- 
rows into a bay,” said Leslie, “ and up to an old 
wharf. Such a funny place ! Did you ever eat 
ice-cream on the roof of a house, Mr. Douglas } ” 

“ No,” said Tom. “But I’ve eaten it on the 
floor of a house.” 

“ Of course you have ; but that is a very differ- 
ent thing from the roof, under an awning, look- 
ing off, far, far off to sea.” 

Soon the party landed, and went merrily up 
the rocks to a little saloon. The ladies insisted 


142 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


on taking their shawls and wraps from the boat, 
for fear they might be stolen if the old man 
should go ashore. 

Uncle Peter sniffed with scorn. 

Mebbe this wharf or the fish-houses ’ll walk 
out and kerry ’em off,” said he, with awful sar- 
casm. “ I ’d better set here an’ watch ’em, 
hedn’t I ? ” 

“ Uncle Peter doesn’t like that,” whispered 
Leslie to Tom. “ He lives in this village. 
That ’s his house over there, and all the people 
are his relations, and such nice people ! No one 
ever steals. Why, I ’ll leave all my things in 
the boat, and I shall feel safe if Uncle Peter does 
go away from it.” 

They had now reached the saloon. 

“ Oh ! ” said Mr. Mac Vickar, while the man 
was dusting the tables, and bringing on very 
yellow and very pink ice-creams ; “ I always 

think, when looking on the sea, — 

* Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, — roll ! 

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain,’ ” 

and he waved his hand toward Uncle Peter’s 
boat; 

“ ‘ Man marks the earth with ruin — his control ’ ** — 

here he turned toward the saloon : — 

“ ‘ his control — 

Man marks the earth with ruin — his control ’ ” — 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 143 


Stops with the shore,” said Tom, patching 
out the verse. 

“Yes,” said Mr. MacVickar; “and very true 
it is, — beautifully true ! ” 

Leslie was so proud that Tom could help him 
out. What hadn’t he read ! 

The “ ice-cream man,” as Mr. Tileson called 
him, brought a plate of fresh doughnuts covered 
with powdered sugar. 

“ What an odd thing to eat with ice-cream ! 
said Miss Wilder, taking a third one, and dust- 
ing the sugar from her dress. 

“ A wisp-broom ought to go with each one of 
these cakes,” said little Tileson. 

They laughed, for they were all brushing 
away at their clothes. 

“ Pretty good, Mr. Tileson,” said Mr. Mac- 
Vickar, — “ very good indeed, sir ! ” 

Mr. Tileson thought at once that he would 
have the cook at home make some cakes of this 
kind the next time they had company, and that 
he woula get off that bright joke again. 

Tom looked at his watch. 

“ I think we ’ll have to leave now, if I am to 
catch my train,” said he. “ I might get Uncle 
Peter to run me up, and let him come back for 
you.” 

“ Oh, no : we are ready,” they all said. 

“ Why must you go to-night } ” asked Mr. Mac- 
Vickar. 


144 the COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


** I have an engagement in town," said Tom. 

*‘You are a man of engagements,” said Mr. 
MacVickar, pointing his remark by a very quiz- 
zical face. 

“ Fool ! ” said Tom to himself, as he returned 
the look without one gleam of intelligence. 

Leslie had a little pitcher in her hand, when 
she came out of the saloon. 

“ What in the earth is that ” asked Tom, 
taking the pitcher from her. “Are you going 
to carry this to your aunt ? It will melt before 
you are half there.” 

“ Oh, no,” said Leslie. “ It is for Uncle Peter. 
I think he feels sort of lonely in the boat, all by 
himself.” 

“ You are a dear, good girl,” said Tom. “ You 
are always thinking of other people I wish I 
was Uncle Peter.” 

“ Oh, you needn’t wish that,” said Leslie, shy- 
ly. “ I ’ll buy jyou some ice-cream, sometime, if 
you care so much for it. Will you have pink or 
yellow ; and will you eat it from a pitcher } ” 

“ I believe you are a little wicked,” said 
Tom: “just enough to keep you from flying 
away.” 

“ That sounds like Mr. MacVickar,” said Les- 
lie. “He is always expecting ladies to spread 
their wings, — even Mrs. Stevens, who would 
need very strong ones ; and we always rival the 
stars ; and he says something about — 


THE COLONEL^S OPERA CLOAK. 145 


‘O woman ! in our hours of ease/ ” 

Tom thought of the next line, — how it fitted 
Mrs. St. John ; and then of himself, with a ter- 
rible headache, and Leslie’s soft hands on his 
head. 

“Wal,” said Uncle Peter, catching sight ot 
the ice-cream ; “ hain’t yer hed enough, but yer 
must fetch a pitcher-full aboard ” 

“That’s for you,” said Leslie. “You might 
have gone up for some just as well as not. No- 
body would have hurt your boat.” 

The rest had now come up. 

“No,” said Uncle Peter, still displeased about 
the suspicions of theft. “ One lady left her rub- 
ber, an’ o’ course I didn’t darst to quit while 
that was here : it might hev ben stole. I see 
Deacon Soule sort o’ spyin’ round.” 

Mrs. Morris and Leslie laughed heartily. They 
knew Deacon Soule by sight, — a very solemn- 
looking man, his hair all brushed up to the top 
of his head, and braided in a flat little braid, 
which looked as if some one had got inside of 
his head to arrange it. 

Uncle Peter ate the ice-cream with a relish, 
and then set the pitcher and spoon on the wharf, 
where the owner was to find them, — “ Ef Dea- 
con Soule don’t ketch sight on ’em fust,” said 
Uncle Peter, grimly, as he pushed off. 

They did not notice that the precious opera 
10 


14 ^ THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


cloak had fallen from the gunwale, where 
Leslie had left it, and drifted to the shore, 
near by. 

The sun was low. The sky was one glow of 
gold and rose color, — a burning rose, that glo- 
rified the sky and water, and lent a rich tint 
to the trees, whose heavy reflection trembled 
below. 

“ ‘ Where the reflections, clear and strong. 

Fall like an echo to a song,’ ” 

said Mrs. Morris. 

Leslie wished she could quote. She meant to 
read, and learn things by heart, so as to be able 
to do it. Everybody else could quote ; and she 
felt quite ashamed. 

Quiet fell upon the little party. The lapping 
of the water on the side of the boat was pleasant 
to the ear. 

Tom trembled lest some one should suggest 
“ Good-night, ladies ! ” or “ Soft o’er the foun- 
tain.” / 

Mr. Tileson and Miss Wilder stood for the 
figure-heads, this time. Leslie and Tom sat 
in the stern. 

“ Oh ! ” cried Leslie. “ Look at the little vil- 
lage. It is all gold ! ” ♦ 

A star burned on the steeple of the church, 
and the village windows were aglow with 
the setting sun. The houses were dark against 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 147 


the yellow light. The little town was trans* 
figured 

Leslie sighed with delight. 

Suddenly she put her hand on Uncle Peter’s, 
as he held the tiller, 

“ Stop ! ” she cried. “ See ! Wait ! There s 
a man in the water ! ” 

They all started to their feet. 

“ I don’t see none,” said Uncle Peter, looking 
back. “ Wher is he ^ I guess he ’d holler, ’f 
he wanted help.” 

“ Maybe he can't,” said Leslie. 

“ Where is he ^ Where is he ? ” they asked, 
all at once. 

“ Why, there ! ” Leslie pointed. “ In the little 
cove, where we ran in. See ! he is trying to pull 
himself up by some bushes. I can see his arms 
move.” 

“ Perhaps it ’s Deacon Soule, after the spoon,’ 
said Tom. 

Leslie looked reproachfully at him. There 
were tears in her eyes. 

Uncle Peter wanted to get home to supper. 

“ I ’ll holler,” said he. “ An’ ef he don’t holler 
back, I think he oughter be drownded.” 

Uncle Peter put his hand to his mouth, and 
called, — 

“ Hallo ! Who be yer ? Hallo ! ” 

No answer. 


r48 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 


Tom was in a great hurry to get back, so as to 
have a little talk with Leslie before he went to 
his train ; for he had something on his mind, 
and wanted to get it off. And what chance had 
he had that day ? 

‘‘ Those boys ! ” he said to himself. “ And 
that confounded old cloak, last night ! That 
just spoiled my chance. If Uncle Peter should 
go back now, the last hope would be gone. I 
could barely catch the train.” 

But he could not resist Leslie’s : “ Please make 
him go back. Please, — please do,” 

“Come, Uncle Peter,” said Tom, “I’ll give 
you half a dollar if you ’ll turn back. But you 
have got to hurry.” 

“ Oh, you must go back ! ” cried the ladies, 
trembling. “You must. Uncle Peter!” 

“ Why, the idea of leaving a man in that sit- 
uation ! ” said Mrs. Morris. “ It will never do. 
[ should feel like a murderer.” 

“But, maybe, he has just slipped in, and is 
pulling himself out,” said Mr. MacVickar, who 
dreaded the night air on his rheumatic shoulder. 
“ Let the boat lie still until we see.” 

The figure remained quiet for a few seconds, 
and then struggled wildly. 

“ Nobody can’t drownd there,” said Uncle 
Peter, “’nless he tries to. It’s shoal in the 
cove. I do believe it ’s a boy try in’ to scare 
us. Hallo 1 ” 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 149 


“ Who be yer ? Who be yer ? ” he called 
again. 

“ Be yer ? ” echoed from the cliff. 

Uncle Peter was very indignant that the man 
wouldn’t “holler.” 

“ Perhaps he ’s deaf,” said Leslie. 

“ Or dumb,” said Miss Wilder. 

“ Or contr’y,” said Uncle Peter. 

“Well, we will go back and see,” said Tom. 
“That ’s our business now.” And Leslie’s 
grateful smile fully repaid him. 

“ Why don’t he get up ^ ” asked Mrs. Morris. 
They were all straining their eyes. “ I should 
think he could. He has hold of the bushes.” 

“ Perhaps they give way when he pulls,” said 
one of the party. “ Sometimes he gets tired, 
and only holds on. Perhaps he fell into the 
water, and is faint.” 

“ Why don’t he holler, then ? ” asked Uncle 
Peter, keeping to his grievance. “Time to 
holler is when you want suthin’.” 

The light was fading ; the shadows deepened 
in the little cove. 

Miss Wilder was faint. 

“ Will he have to be brought into the boat, 
if he is dead ? ” she asked, with horror in her 
tone. 

“ Wonder nobody ain’t stole him,” said Uncle 
Peter, sarcastically, “ along ’o the pitcher I ” 


ISO THE COLONEL OPERA CLOAK, 


Tom could hardly help laughing ; but Leslie 
looked so solemn that he did not dare to. Be- 
sides, there the poor fellow was, struggling in the 
water. 

As the boat rounded into the cove, Tom sprang 
up on the little cabin, and, holding on by the 
mast, bent down, ready to catch the drowning 
man. 

A sudden breeze swept over the bay. The 
man threw up his arms wildly. There was a 
flapping of something red. 

A shout went up from the boat. Tom leaned 
over, and pulled on board the “ drownded man,’^ 
— O. C. St^ John, Esquire. 

“It is that old cloak of Mrs. St. John’s,” cried 
Mrs. Morris, laughing. “ Now, Uncle Peter, you 
see why he couldn’t ‘ holler.’ ” 

Leslie put her face in her hands. She was 
ready to cry with shame. She had delayed them 
all, and Tom would be vexed about losing his 
train. But no one cared : it was an adventure. 

“ I expected to help pull him in,” said Mrs. 
Morris, “ and lay him on his left side, — no, on 
his right, — which side is it that you lay drowned 
people on ? — and get a medal. That ’s all I mind, 
and I shall look to you for it, Leslie, because he 
belongs to you.” 

Uncle Peter’s good-nature was restored when 
Tom slipped the promised ^oin into his hand. 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 151 


“ When I thought it was a man,” said he, con- 
fidentially, “ I was mad to hev him sich a fool, — 
wouldn’t holler ! But, when I see it was a cloth 
cape, I thought it was a pretty smart cape, 
to make out he was a man.” 

Leslie looked over the side of the boat, and 
trailed her hand along in the water. Tom wrapped 
a shawl about her, which Mrs. Morris had handed 
him, and let his hand slide from her shoulder 
until it touched hers lightly. 

“ Don’t mind,” he whispered. “ It was nothing 
at all : they all think it is funny.” 

“ Don’t be vexed with me,” said Leslie, if 
you lose your train. If it had really been a man, 
you wouldn’t have minded.” 

“ That ’s all right. There ’s plenty of time. 
Vexed with you, Leslie ! How could I be } ” 
Tom whispered in return. 

“ Come, listen,” said Mrs. Morris : “I'm going 
to tell a story.” 

“ Once upon a time there was a lady, a young 
lady, who was so anxious to procure a medal 
from the Humane Society, that one day she 
hired a boat, and invited a large party of friends 
to aid her in searching for a shipwrecked mariner. 
So out they went upon the ocean, — Mr. Mac- 
Vickar’s deep and dark blue ocean,” — 

“Byron’s, madam,” said Mr. MacVickar: “I 
cannot claim that fine apostrophe.” 

Mrs. Morris opened her eyes at Tom. 


152 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


‘‘Well,” she continued, “upon Byron’s deep 
and dark blue ocean, on a fine summer afternoon. 
The first thing they discovered, with mingled 
feelings, was a floating object. Tears filled their 
eyes, grief their bosoms. It was a man and 
a brother. They neared him ; they thought of 
the medal ; they reflected that ‘ he was some 
mother’s son.’ 

“ Suddenly it was discovered that it was noth- 
ing but an old cloak ; and then, when joy should 
have possessed them, they fell a prey to sadness. 
For, ah, where was the medal ! 

“ The others quickly recovered ; but this young 
lady could not be comforted. She leaned so far 
over the boat that an elderly lady, her friend, was 
obliged to entreat a young gentleman to hold her 
in. I don’t wish to be personal ; but, Mr. Doug- 
las, don’t let the lady with the Rob Roy shawl 
fall into the water.” 

Leslie laughed. She knew that Mrs. Morris 
had told the silly little story to divert her, and, 
perhaps, too, to show her that she was making 
too much of the affair. She took the lesson, if 
such it was, and smiled. 

“ I think you are very kind, not to be vexed,” 
she said. “ I ’m afraid you will all lose your 
suppers, and that Mr. Douglas will miss his 
train, for the tide is running out.” 

“Yes,” said Uncle Peter; “but ain’t I got my 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 1 53 


oars aboard, an’ ain’t I got two arms ? Nobod)^ 
won’t lose no suppers nor nothin’, I bet, to- 
night.” 

The tide had run out, however, so much that 
they had to go ashore in a “ skift,” as Uncle 
Peter called it, two at a time. 

“You go first, with Leslie, Mr. Douglas,” said 
Mrs. Morris. “ Trains won’t wait, and suppers 
will.” 

Tom blessed her. Perhaps he would get his 
chance yet. 

They stepped into the skiff. Uncle Peter 
sculled them to the wharf, and' left them. A 
stable-boy was waiting there. 

“ Did you want to ketch the train ? ” he asked 

“Yes,” said Tom, “ I must.” 

“ Well, I ’ve had the horse harnessed ever so 
long, a-lookin’ for you. I thought you ’d be too 
late. We ’ll have to hurry like sixty.’* 

“ Go up,” said Tom. “ I ’ll come.” 

He took Leslie’s hand in a firm, close grasp. 

“ Good-by,” he said. 

“ All ready ! ” called the boy. 

“ Good-by, Miss Leslie. 1 ’ll be down again 
goon. Don’t forget me. Promise ! ” 

“ I ’ll promise,” said Leslie, softly. 

“ You ’ll git left ! ” called the boy. 

“ Good-by ! ” said Tom again. “ There cornea 
the skiff. Good-by ! ” 


154 the colonel^ s opera cloak. 


As soon as they reached the house, Mrs. 
St. John called Leslie upstairs. She had been 
watching for the party. 

“ So Mr. Douglas caught his train,” said she, 
shutting the door of her room. “ Well, Leslie, 
did he make you an offer } ” 

“ No.” 

“ Well, I declare ; and after all the pains I 
have taken to keep those boys away, and plan 
this sail, and invite him here, he has slipped away 
in the dark ! I don’t believe he had any engage- 
ment in town : he didn’t care to face me, after 
such dishonorable conduct. I reckon he ’d have 
done differently, if the Colonel had been here. 
I wish he’d just met up with him.” 

Leslie said nothing. 

“Why don’t you speak.?” said Mrs. St. John, 
displeased at her silence. “ How much more did 
you want me to do .? ” 

Nothing,” said Leslie. 

“ Nothing ! ” repeated Mrs. St. John. “ I won- 
der how much would be done in the world, if no 
one did any thing ! I ’ve spent days and days in 
planning for you, and I live to hear you say you 
want ‘nothing’ from me. Perhaps Mr. Douglas 
didn’t have time, you will say. How long would 
it take him to ask, ‘ Will you marry me ? ’ ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Leslie, crying. 

“ Well, I do,” said her aunt : “ about half 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 15S 


a minute ; and he had twenty-four hours for 
it.” 

Leslie felt as if she had a sum to do : if a 
man can offer himself in a half minute, how 
many times can he offer himself in twenty-four 
hours ? 

She was utterly miserable. 

There was a knock at the door. Mr. Mac- 
Vickar wished to know if Mrs. St. John was not 
coming down. 

“ Certainly,” said Mrs. St. John. “ I am coming 
down before long.” 

In the parlor, she heard the story of the ship- 
wrecked mariner. 

“ We may safely say,” she remarked, “ that 
there was one of this party who didn’t mind 
being delayed, and would gladly have lost his 
train. Poor Leslie, I do believe she will have to 
marry Mr. Douglas, whether or no. He is so 
determined. I never saw a man so in love in 
all my life.” 

Tom was rather low-spirited as he rolled 
away over the country road. He had been 
frustrated at every turn. He wished the old 
opera cloak had been drowned for good. “ I 
believe the Evil One left the boys, and entered 
it, — that is, if it isn’t the very Evil One him 
self,” said Tom. “ I thought at one time O. C. St. 


15 ^ THE COLONEL OPERA CLOAK, 


John was favoring me, to Mr. Cavello’s discom- 
fort ; but he has gone against me now. He’s 
making a clear coast for some other fellow. 
Mrs. St. John said Merrill was very attentive to 
her. Of course. Why not ? And he has the 
inside track. 

“ I wish I had pushed those boys and their 
cloak into the sea last night. Gracious ! That 
was a chance, if they hadn’t spoiled it. It was 
on my lips that minute.” 

Poor Tom smiled a grim smile. 

“ Well, it ’s a queer world. I wonder how all 
this is coming out.” 

What a change it was to sit in the dreary car 
with twoscore strange people, where the lamps 
burned dimly, but smelt strongly. 

Was it less than an hour since he held Leslie’s 
hand ! 

Tom looked out of the window. The moon 
was sailing through light clouds. Happy moon ! 
It was looking down on Leslie. 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 157 


CHAPTER IX. 

HE morning was delightfully cool ; the sea 



sparkled in the sun with a brilliant and 
dazzling brightness, “ which could only be 
caught,” said the young lady who sketched, 
“ by using coarse paper, and scratching little 
specks of paint off after the ocean had been all 
washed in.” 

A group of old apple-trees near the hotel, 
gnarled and covered with yellow lichens, bent 
toward the land, bowed by the sea-winds of 
many winters. 

The gulls fluttered, and poised themselves 
Dver the water in scattered flocks. 

The far-off ships stood like phantoms on the 
horizon’s rim. The atmosphere seemed to 
tremble and vibrate. 

The morning could not have been finer, if 
Mrs. St. John had made it herself. She had 
approached the feat, as nearly as possible, by 
setting the day apart for a clam-bake ; and she 
complacently received the compliments of the 


153 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


party, as she sat in a Shaker chair on the piazza, 
after breakfast. 

Mr. MacVickar sat beside her. He was quite 
in accord with the day. He wore a light flannel 
suit and a Panama hat. 

The piazza was filled with ladies, busied with 
the pleasant flurry of “ getting off.” 

Leslie stood by the steps, with an armful of 
shawls. The boys came hopping toward her 
like frogs. 

“ Say, Leslie,” said little Clarence, “ the 
people who hired the big carriage yesterday 
didn’t bring it back, and the picnic has got to 
go in the little ones. I ’m jolly glad of it, for I 
shall drive one horse.” 

“No, you won’t either,” retorted Wilfrid. 
“ They wouldn’t trust you with any horse except 
a saw-horse.” 

“ They would, too,” said Clarence. “ I ’ll bet 
I could drive a tandem team that could run 
lickerty split, and smash every thing to pieces, 
— so, there ! ” 

The carriages came to the door. The people 
who were going to the clam-bake stood about 
waiting for Mr. MacVickar, who was the 
leader, and who had promised to sing at dinner 
a song about a young lady whb drank only with 
her eyes. 

He was in high feather to-day, for all the 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 1 59 


younger beaux had gone to the city, and the 
papas and husbands were glad to throw the care 
upon him. 

The ladies took their novels and their fancy- 
work, — calico birds to be sewed on to dish 
towels. Miss Nelson took her paint-boxes and 
brushes, a jar full of water, a sketching-block, 
a camp-stool, and a large white umbrella with a 
shining ball on the top. Her palette hung from 
her belt. Mr. MacVickar called her Art, and 
asked if Literature and Science would not join 
her at the clam-bake. 

Mrs. St. John looked the carriages carefully 
over, selected the easiest, and seated herself 
in it. 

At last they were ready to start, and there was 
no room for Leslie. Every one exclaimed, but 
no one offered to ride “ three on a seat.” 

“ Please don’t mind me,” said Leslie. I am 
tired to-day : I rowed so hard yesterday. I ’d 
really rather stay at home. Do let me. Aunt 
Marie.” 

Mrs. St. John glanced around. She had the 
most room in her carriage : Leslie would fall to 
her share. 

“ Well,” said she, smiling significantly at 
the company, and then at Leslie, “ I suppose 
young ladies must have a little time to meditate 
and write long letters, once in a while.” 


160 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


“ Ah, Miss Leslie,” said Mr. MacVickar, rising 
and bowing, — 

“Your heart’s in the city, 

Your heart is not here ; 

Your heart’s in the city, 

A-chasing your — 

Oh ! ” he exclaimed, sitting down in a very forci- 
ble way, as the horses started. And away they 
all whirled, bowing, and calling Good-by.” 

Tom had brought “Cousin Phillis” to Leslie. 
Oh, what a blissful day this would be to read it 
in ! There was no one to bother her. Even 
Pomp had gone to the city in an early train, to 
get from the house something which her aunt 
had forgotten. 

Leslie went to her room for the book ; and, 
seeing the opera cloak hanging on a chair, she 
took it, and, equipped with that and a large 
parasol, set off for a morning on the rocks. 

She walked along the beach until she came 
to Cannon Rock, where she climbed to a seat 
which almost overhung the sea. She made the 
cloak into a cushion, propped the parasol up at 
her side, and took up her book. 

But soon the bright pebbles enticed her to 
the beach. Tom had promised to have some 
polished for her for a necklace. What a necklace 
it would be, full of memories of the sky and of 
sea, and of this wonderful summer, and of Tom, 
above all I 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. l6l 


She wandered along to a little wharf, where 
Uncle Peter sat, swinging his legs over the water. 
He was as brown and gnarled as the apple-trees : 
he would have been as yellow with lichens, had 
he sat still long enough. Almost every thing 
here was covered with lichens and moss. 

The old man smiled on her as she approached, 
and said, “ Hallo, Leslie ! ” with that Yankee in- 
dependence which is so amusing. “Yer ain’t 
lost nothin’, hev yer > I see yer a-lookin’ along 
the beach.” 

“ Oh, no,” she replied. “ I was only getting 
some bright pebbles for a necklace.” 

Uncle Peter shook his head, and laughed 
scornfully. 

“ I never see en’thin’ to beat city folks. They ’ll 
kerry away enough stuff, when they come here, 
to make an island. One ’oman paid me for 
fetchin’ sea-weeds to her, an’ she give me fifty 
cents for ten big hoss-foots. She was as par- 
tic’lar to hev whole tails on ’em, as they ’d ’a’ ben 
themselves when they was alive. I thought I 
shculd hev died to keep from laughin’, when she 
was a-payin’ me.” 

“ Oh,” said Leslie, she wanted them for catch- 
alls. I have seen the ladies making them. They 
put a puff of crimson silk behind them, and 
bows of ribbon, and hang them on the parlor 
wall” 


II 


i 62 the colonel s opera cloak 


“ Lor ! ” cried Uncle Peter, in utter astonish- 
ment. “ Yer don’t say so ! I allers heave mine 
to the hog. But the most sing’lar thing that 
'oman did,” continued Uncle Peter, “ was to hunt 
up clam-shells an’ flat rocks, an’ paint pictur’s on 
*em. I ’ll bet her trunk wa’n’t no joke to h’ist, 
when she went off ! But, then, no city trunks 
ain’t, when they fust come. I ’ve hefted ’em 
sometimes, an’ I should think they was allers 
full o’ rocks.” 

“ I think stones and shells are lovely,” said 
Leslie. “ I wish I could paint on them.” 

“ I don’t wish to speak dis’espec’ful o’ shells,” 
said Uncle Peter. “ Why, I ’ve picked up shells 
myself, when I was oft on a South Sea crewse. 
I scooped ’em up in my het to fetch home ; but 
they wa’n’t clam-shells, I can tell yer ! They 
was all pink an’ yeller, an’ gold an’ silver. I ’ll 
fetch yer a fistful to-morrer. Lany keeps ’em 
in bottles on the mantel-tree.” 

“ Oh,” said Leslie, “ I should like them so 
much ! I ’d keep them always. But perhaps 
your daughter won’t like to part with them. Is 
she better to-day ” 

** I guess we ’ll fetch her round now,” replied 
Uncle Peter. “ But I thought she ’d be hauled 
up, one time. Lany ! why, she ’d give ’em to yer 
herself. She don’t set no store by ’em.” 

“ The sun is so hot,” said Leslie, '' that I think 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 163 


I ’ll go back. I wish there were some trees 
along the shore, so that you could sail under 
them and anchor, and I could lie in the boat 
and read.” 

“ Oh, trees ain’t no good for shade,” said Un- 
cle Peter. “ It ’s rocks that shades. I know a 
cove where we could run in an’ be as cold as ice. 
I ’ll take yer there, ef yer want to go.” 

‘‘ Oh, do ! ” cried Leslie. “ That will be lovely 
I ’ll run back to the rock for my things.” 

A gentleman had driven up to the hotel door, 
where the landlord was standing in portly dig- 
nity. 

Mrs. St. John, does she board here ? ” he asked. 

“ Oh, yes,” said the landlord, stepping to the 
buggy. “ But the whole family, in fact most of 
my guests, have gone to a clam-bake. I don’t 
expect them back till supper-time. I ’m sorry 
they are away, sir. You ’d better get out. Your 
horse looks as if he had had a long run.” 

The gentleman allowed a small boy, who ap- 
peared at this moment, to take his horse, and 
accepted the landlord’s invitation. 

I tell you, sir,” said Mr. Saunders, after they 
had seated themselves on the piazza, “ it isn’t 
often you come across a Southern family like 
the St. Johns, nowadays. They have four of 
my best rooms for the summer, and think nn 


104 THE COLONSrs OPERA CLOAK, 


more of money than of just nothing at all, sir. 
They are very wealthy, as of course you know, 
if they are friends of yours. The young lady is 
an heiress, — untold wealth, in fact, I’ve heard, 
— and a very beautiful young lady she is. The 
young men are quite carried away with her. 1 
believe she is to marry a young man from the 
city. He was down here a few days ago.” 

“ Oh ! his name, it was Mr. Douglas ? ” asked 
the gentleman. 

“ Yes, that was his name. He came to attend 
our hop; and a very nice hop it was. You 
know him, I suppose "i ” 

“ Yes, I do know him.” 

“Well, sir, won’t you walk in and look at the 
newspapers ? I am sorry they are away.” 

The red side of the opera cloak hung over the 
rock, and now caught the landlord’s eye. At 
that moment, also, a lithe figure in dark blue 
appeared, far down on the beach. 

“Why, that’s Miss St. John, now! I thought 
she ’d gone. I ’ll send a boy for her.” 

“ No,” said the stranger. “ I will myself go for 
her. You may put my horse in your stable.” 

Mr. Cavello had been suspicious of Tom since 
the day he last saw him in Margrave Street 
He was sure that Tom knew where the St. 
Johns had gone, although he had made believe 
he did not. After waiting in vain for an answer 


THE COLONEL’S OPERA CLOAH. IO5 


from the Colonel, he had turned his steps to the 
Doctor’s, when he knew Tom would be at his 
office, to ask for Mrs. St. John’s address. As he 
approached, he saw Ned playing on the sidewalk. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Cavello ? ” said the little 
fellow. “You didn’t go to the beach with the 
rest of them, did you } ” 

“ No, I have not gone yet ; but I go now. I 
have lost the address. Can you tell it to me } ” 

“ Oh, yes, I know the place. I went there 
once last summer with Bessie. You can find 
it easy enough. Tom went there last week.” 
And the child gave him over and over again the 
most careful directions, and sent his love to the 
boys. 

Mr. Cavello walked off in high spirits. He 
would go to Mrs. St. John, and be very angry, 
and tell her that he was to fight the Colonel and 
young Mr. Douglas, and that he would revenge 
himself on them all ; and he would marry Leslie. 
She should never marry Mr. Douglas. 

Poor Mr. Cavello’s heart was really touched. 
He had not known that he had one before, and 
it was a real pleasure to make the discovery. 

What there was of it must have been good, 
for it was Leslie’s sweetness and goodness 
which had won him. He had seen many more 
beautiful girls, but never one like her. Oh, if 
he could only carry her away to his plantation, 


1 66 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 


away from everybody else, he would buy her the 
most beautiful jewels and dresses, and his slaves 
should wait upon her day and night ; and a 
sense of something purer and finer than he had 
ever known filled his soul, until he was lost in 
wonder and admiration of himself. 

Leslie had picked up the cloak, the parasol 
and the book, and had begun to descend to the 
beach, merrily humming to herself, when she 
became conscious of some one approaching. 
Was it Tom } Her heart almost stopped beat- 
ing. She looked up, and uttered a little cry. 

Mr. Cavello raised his hat. 

“ Do not come down. Miss Leslie,” he called. 
** It is I who will come to you. You have a fine 
place up there.” 

Leslie sat down in despair, and Mr. Cavello 
took his seat beside her, and held the sun- 
umbrella over them both. 

They seemed very cozy and friendly, the 
landlord thought, as he stood looking at them 
from a distance, with his hands in his pockets. 

Leslie was silent after the first greetings. 

“ I thought I would find where you had gone,” 
said Mr. Cavello, fanning himself with his hat, 
his anger fading in Leslie’s presence. “Why 
did you run away from me } ” 

“ Oh, I didn’t run away from you,” said Leslie, 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 167 


earnestly. She had felt ashamed at the way in 
which her aunt had treated him. 

“ I should have written you,” she added, “and 
sent you the keys, only I did not know where 
you were. It was too bad : your clothes were 
all there.” 

“ Oh, that was of little matter,” said Mr. Ca- 
vello. “ You know I had a room at the club, 
where I went with my friends, and I had other 
trunks there.” Leslie’s imagination was limited 
in respect of wardrobes. “ But it was of your 
unkindness I was troubled.” 

“ They are all away to-day,” said Leslie, tak- 
ing no notice of his remarks. “ They have gone 
to a picnic, and Pomp is in the city. I am so 
sorry that I don’t know where he keeps the 
keys ; but I will send them to you.” 

“ Oh, that is nothing,” said Mr. Cavello. “ I 
have money enough. I can buy as much clothes 
as I wish. I only used to stay at your aunt’s, 
you know, because when my visit was done I 
could not go away from you. But you did not 
care. I had a beautiful gift for your aunt for 
letting me stay there ; but she ran you all away.” 

Mr. Cavello did not mention the money he 
had lent the Colonel. 

“ Oh, you must not care for me,” cried Leslie, 
in distress, the swift color rushing to her 
cheeks. 


l68 THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. 


“ But I cannot help to love you,” said Mr. 
Cavello. “ But I know very well you do not like 
me, and you do like some one else.” 

He looked so forlorn that Leslie’s tender 
heart was touched. 

“ Oh, I do not say that, — I do not think, — 
nobody cares ” — 

“ If there is nobody else, perhaps you will 
some time love me. I would get every thing for 
you that women like. I have plenty of money,” 
said Mr. Cavello. 

“That would not make any difference with 
me,” said Leslie, gently. “ I do not care for 
money, nor for diamonds, nor for any of the 
things Aunt Marie likes. If I should ever 
marry anybody, it would be just because I loved 
him, and not for what he had. I would marry 
Lim, if he was very, very poor, so that I should 
have to work hard all the time.” 

. Leslie’s slender hands were crossed upon her 
lap. Mr. Cavello touched them lightly. 

“ What work could such little hands do } ” he 
said in a tender tone. 

Leslie shook off his hand as if it had been 
a viper. 

“ Oh, do not talk so to me ! ” she cried pas* 
sionately, the tears starting to her eyes. “ Am 
I not unhappy enough, with nobody to care for 
me, but that you must trouble me, too ? I have 


^HE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 169 


no mother, like most girls. Aunt Marie doesn’t 
love me. I shall never marry anybody. Who 
would love me } Don’t speak to me ! Don’t 
say a word ! ” 

Mr. Cavello was startled. He had never seen 
I^eslie so excited. She was lamenting that 
nobody loved her, and at the same time forbid- 
ding anybody to think of her. 

“ I will not say any more,” said he, “ if you will 
stop crying. If you cannot love me, will you 
not be my good friend always } ” And he held 
out his hand. 

The change in his tone comforted the girl. 

“ Oh, yes, I ’ll be your friend ; but do not say 
such things to me any more.” 

“ You will know,” said Mr. Cavello, “ that I 
am going away very soon. A week from to-day 
the steamer sails, and you will never see me any 
more, ever ; and I should like to know you are 
my good friend, before I go. Will you do me a 
last kindness, and go to a little drive with me.!*” 

At the pleasant news of his speedy departure 
Leslie grew cheerful, and said kindly, — 

“ I ’ll go for a little while ; but you must stay 
and dine with me. If you will wait until Aunt 
Marie comes home, I can get you the keys to- 
night.” 

She looked round to see the cause of the 
sudden change in Mr. Cavello’s face. 


170 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


Hallo ! ” said Uncle Peter, his red face 
appearing over a rock. “ Changed yer mind 
about goin’ out, hevn’t yer ? " 

Uncle Peter’s curiosity had been too much for 
him. He thought he must have a look at that 
“ queer chap ” whom he had seen from afar. 

“ Found better company, hev yer ? ” said he, 
with an unrestrained wink at Leslie. 

This is a friend of my uncle’s, from the city,” 
she said. “ I shall have to wait until some othei 
day for the sail, unless,” turning eagerly to Mr. 
Cavello, “ you would rather sail than drive. It is 
so lovely on the water, and your horse must be 
tired.” 

She shrank from a tete-dL-tHe drive ; but Mr. 
Cavello did not. 

“ My horse will be refreshed after dinner,” he 
said. 

“ Some other day, then. Uncle Peter,” said 
Leslie. “ Don’t forget my shells.” 

Mr. Cavello had some ideas of his own con- 
cerning himself and other people. He thought 
he was a very good-looking man, as, indeed, he 
was, for those who like that style. Then he 
thought he was a “great catch,” with his tine 
plantation and plenty of money ; and, for those 
who care for such things above all others, he 
certainly was. He believed any woman must be 


IHE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 171 


urged and coaxed and almost forced into saying 
“Yes.” Leslie was only making believe. Why, 
he was very good to want to marry a girl who 
had not a cent ; and that was a very pretty and 
complimentary speech she made about not mar 
rying for money. 

And so Mr. Cavello felt rather comfortable, 
upon the whole. 

Leslie hoped he would forget the drive ; but 
he ordered the horse before dinner, and, when 
they came out from the dining-room, the carriage 
was at the door. 

The folded cloak and the parasol lay in a chair 
on the piazza. Mr. Cavello gave them to Leslie, 
after she was seated. 

She talked incessantly. She dreaded a silence. 
Mr. Cavello exerted himself to be entertaining 
by telling her about Cuba and the ways of living 
there, until Leslie thought Cuba must be the 
third heaven, to say the least. But she did not 
want to go there, if it was. 

While Mr. Cavello described his plantation in 
glowing colors, Leslie was wishing this was the 
rainy night of that happy drive, and that Mr. 
Cavello was Tom. 

“ What a sad world this is ! ” thought the girl. 
“ Here is poor Mr. Cavello liking me ; and I like 
Tom ; and Tom cares for nobody, unless, perhaps, 
for Miss Henderson. If Mr. Cavello had only 


1/2 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


fallen in love with Gertrude, who is fond of fine 
dresses and diamonds ! ” And Leslie’s poor little 
brain was tired with trying to unravel the mys- 
teries of life, as have been many wiser ones 
before. 

She looked about her in surprise. “Why, Mr. 
Cavello,” she said, “ I never drove through this 
town. What is it } What a long drive we must 
have taken ! It is four by that church clock.” 

“ I do not know the name of that town,” he 
replied, “ but I know my way. Did you think I 
had lost it } ” 

“ Oh, no ; only I think we had better turn back. 
Aunt Marie will want me when she comes home : 
Pomp is away, you know.” 

“You must not make yourself so very much 
to people,” said Mr, Cavello, “ that they cannot 
do without you.” 

“ But Aunt Marie has always been waited on,” 
said Leslie. 

“ Well, we will go home very soon,” said Mr. 
Cavello, turning into another road. “ Remember, 
this is my latest drive with you.” 

If sacrifice on her part could atone for rudeness 
on her aunt’s, she felt that she had done her duty 
by Mr. Cavello. 

“ Why, Mr. Cavello,” she cried, after a time, 
“what are we coming to.? You have lost your 
way ! There is no such large place near the 
hotel ! Why, it is the city, isn’t it ! ” 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 173 


Yes,” said Mr. Cavello, “and I have brought 
you here on purpose ; and, my dear Miss Leslie, 
I want to take you with me to my beautiful home, 
away from this cold place. You are young : you 
do not know about love. I will teach it to you. 
You shall be my queen, and I will be your slave. 
You say nobody does care for you here; and 
why do you stay } ” 

He spoke with warmth ; he tried to take her 
hand. Leslie caught it away, and pressed against 
the side of the carriage. She was very much 
startled. 

“ I know,” he cried, with passion, “ it is Mr. 
Douglas you love ; but you need not. He will 
marry the handsome young lady. I know he 
will marry her. And she hates you very much. 
I saw, I saw ! ” 

It was true : Leslie felt it in her soul. It was 
nothing new that he had told her. Always, 
always, always she had known it. 

“ I have heard in the . city that he marries her 
soon,” said Mr. Cavello, improvising ; and he 
added : — 

“ How will you stay here, while your aunt does 
not want you, and you have no money } Oh, come 
with me ! I know a priest here : he is my great 
friend. We will go there, and be married ; and 
away in my home you will be glad to forget 
this bad Mr. Douglas, who has tried to make 


174 the colonel s opera cloak. 


you love him. I will fight him, if you should 
wish me.’* 

Leslie tried to speak. Her voice would not 
come. She looked entreatingly at him. He 
would not understand : he could not. He thought 
she was considering : of course she would con- 
sent, after what she considered the proper amount 
of coquetting. His mind reverted to the number- 
less mammas who had tried to “ lasso ” him, and 
the daughters who had shot arrows by the 
quiverful. Surely, this poor little girl could not 
refuse so great a chance. 

Wealth was not happiness, as Mr. Cavello 
knew ; but that poverty and dependence meant 
unhappiness, he felt very sure, and he was aware 
that this girl had tasted them in their bitterness. 

They were now in the heart of the city. Peo- 
ple, glancing at the pretty girl and the dark 
Spaniard, thought them lovers on a pleasure 
drive. “Well, the world is smooth enough for 
some folks,” they sighed, and passed on. 

“Mr. Cavello,” said Leslie, “do not say any 
more to me. You must let me get out. You 
surely don’t wish to marry a girl who doesn’t 
love you.” 

“Yes, I do,” said he, passionately. “You will 
like me by and by.” 

“No, I won’t!” cried Leslie. “I shall hate 
you.” 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 1/5 


“ Well, I cannot make you to marry me,” said 
Mr. Cavello. “ If I could, I would do it. Your 
aunt, she told me to marry you.” 

Leslie’s cheeks flamed up. She did not feel 
like fainting now. 

“ Oh ! ” she cried, striking her hands together. 
“ Why can’t I work, like other people, and take 
care of myself ! I must ! I will ! You say you 
are my friend, but it is not true. I am not your 
friend. I never want to see you again. Stop 
your horse ! Let me get out ! I must go 
home ! ” 

“ But listen to me,” cried Mr. Cavello, holding 
her by the wrist : for Leslie had put her hands 
on the reins. 

“Am I not a handsome man.^ Am I not a 
rich man } Am I not a young man t Do I not 
love you } What more do you want, in this long 
earth, in me ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing, nothing,” returned Leslie. “ I ’d 
as lief you were homely and poor and old.” 

“You would like me, if I was homely and 
poor and old. Well, I cannot make myself 
that,” said he, “ even to please you, Miss Leslie, 
You are a very strange young lady. Oh, what 
can I do to make you marry me ? Tell me at 
once that you will. I am not in my way to beg 
young ladies to marry me. They do all wish to 
do it without it.” 


17 ^ THE COLONEL'S OPEL A CLOAK. 


“ Then go and marry them ! ” cried Leslie, now 
really frightened. “ Stop ! I must get out ! ” 

Pomp, who had spent his day in the city, 
searching the attic for things which he finally 
found in the kitchen, and the parlor for things 
which he found in the attic, was slowly trudging 
along toward the depot, with bundles under each 
arm, when he saw a little boy running at full 
speed past him, swinging kt arm’s length a blue 
cape lined with red. 

Pomp had been too intimate with the Colonel’s 
o-pera cloak not to know it when he met it ; but 
how in the world had it got to the city ? Pomp 
flew after the boy, crying, “ Stop, thief ! Stop, 
thief ! ” 

The boy turned up the first corner, and Pomp 
rushed after him. The street was blocked by 
carriages and horse-cars. Just as the boy reached 
the crowd, he dashed up to a buggy, and Pomp 
in another second had collared him. 

“ Miss Leslie,” cried Pomp, looking into the 
carriage, “ whar did yer come from ? ” 

O Pomp,” cried Leslie. “Take me home !” 

“ Let me go ! ” cried the boy, shaking himse. 
out of Pomp’s unconscious grip. “ I saw the 
lady lose the cape out of the carriage. 'Tain’t 
yourn ! ” 

“ Oh, thank you ! Thank you ! ” said Leslie. 
She had no money to give the boy. 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 1 77 


Mr. Cavello turned the horse’s head suddenly, 
and started off in another direction. Pomp in- 
stantly sprang for the bridle, and clung to it 
with both arms, his legs tucked up under him 
in a ludicrous fashion. 

Mr. Cavello was furious. He stood up and 
raised his whip to lash Pomp, when Leslie 
seized his arm and held it. 

Lift me out, Pomp ! ” she cried, and sprang 
to the ground, with the cape in her hand, leaving 
the parasol as a souvenir for Mr. Cavello. It 
was very little, but it was something. 

There was nothing more for Mr. Cavello to do. 

Pomp picked up his scattered bundles, and 
Leslie and he took a horse-car for the depot, in 
as quiet and commonplace a way as if nothing 
unusual had occurred. 

A train had just gone, and there was a long 
half-hour to wait for the next. The usual old 
man came around with soap to sell, and the 
usual old woman with pins and tape ; people 
went in and out, and met their friends ; an 
old lady was left, after waiting two hours for 
her train ; and an old gentleman came just too 
late for his, and tried to get the ticket-office to 
open its inexorable window. 

Leslie sat, dazed and wretched. What was 
life for } What was the use of living ? Was 
it always to go on in this way ^ Oh, if she 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


could only go away from them all, and never 
see them again, — just she and poor old Pomp! 
He was her only friend. If Tom cared any 
thing for her, why didn’t he take her away ? 
Alas, he would never care about her. Hadn’t 
Mr. Cavello said so, and her aunt too ^ And 
wasn’t her heart beating “never, never, never 

While Pomp and Leslie were waiting in the 
railway station, the picnic party returned. Mrs. 
St. John was tired and cross. The clams, ac- 
cording to the usual custom, had been either 
half-baked or burned, and the corn nearly raw. 
Mrs. Stevens’s sister had flirted shamefully with 
Mr. MacVickar. 

Mr. MacVickar himself wore a sort of dishev- 
elled air. He had grass-stains on his light suit, 
as if he had wrestled too roughly with Nature. 
But the oak-wreath around his hat, and the corn- 
silk in his button-hole, gave him the look of a 
hard-pressed conqueror. It seemed unfair that 
the mild clam and unoffending maize should 
have given him the Bacchanalian look which 
he wore. 

The young ladies, who had gone out with be- 
witching, fluffy crimps over their foreheads, had 
returned with little wisp brooms instead, — with- 
out the handles, of course : for no simile is to be 
run into the ground. 

“Where is Leslie.^” said Mrs. St. John, in a 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


1/9 


cross tone. “ I should think Pomp might have 
got home by this time, at any rate. The most 
stupid day I ever knew in my life ! Where can 
Leslie be ! ” 

Mr. Saunders passed her as she spoke. 

“ Oh, a gentleman, a Spaniard, I should think 
— I Ve forgotten his name, — called to see you. 
He dined with Miss St. John, and then took her 
to ride.” 

“Mr. Cavello !” cried Mrs. St. John, in amaze- 
ment. “How did he know where to find us! 
When will they come back } ” 

“ I presume they ’ll be back to tea,” answered 
the landlord. 

“ Oh,” said Mrs. St. John, turning to the ladies, 
her spirits rising. “ You should see Mr. Cavello! 
He is an immensely wealthy Cuban. Leslie’s 
money is nothing compared to his. He would 
call her poor. 

“ The way that man haunted our house ! I was 
afraid he and Mr. Douglas, who was here at the 
hop, would have a duel. I shall be thankful 
when that girl is once off my hands. Leslie’s 
lovers are too much for one poor woman to look 
after. 

“ If Leslie and Mr. Cavello arrange it this 
afternoon, there will be another diamond wed- 
ding. ‘ Signorina Fernando Cavello, n^e St. John,’ 
or whatever means ‘ born ’ in Spanish, woi'Mn’t 


t8o the colonel^ s opera cloak. 


be bad on a card, would it ? ” said Mrs. St. John, 
looking triumphantly around upon the group of 
ladies. 

There ar’n’t many girls,” she went on, “who 
wouldn’t have snapped such a catch up before ; 
but she is so young and so attractive that she 
can afford to take time. She doesn’t have to 
swallow them whole.” And here Mrs. St. John 
smiled sweetly and significantly on Mrs. Stevens’s 
sister, who was by no means in her first youth. 

The ladies, who had meant to sup in their 
picnic array, now decided to change their dresses, 
and were quite excited as they recrimped their hair 
by feeble candles. Mrs. Stevens’s sister gave it 
up, and donned a jockey hat and a gay sack. 

As soon as the tea-bell sounded, everybody hur- 
ried downstairs. They hardly dared to go to the 
table, for fear of missing the grand arrival ; for, 
as this was the middle of the week, excitements 
were rare. 

At last they went in, and watched, between 
mouthfuls, for Leslie and her gay lover. 

“ Dear me,” said Mrs. St. John, “ I am really 
getting anxious. I hope Mr. Cavello will not 
lose his way. I must order a hot supper kept 
for them.” 

After tea, the ladies repaired to the piazza. 
They were too tired to talk. They listened to 
the crickets, who, never weary, except of silence, 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. iSl 


were chirping a quick reveille. The plash of the 
waves softened the sharp sound. 

The light was beginning to fade, when, far 
down the road, appeared two figures, walking. 
Mrs. Stevens put up her eye-glasses. The peo- 
ple drew nearer. 

“ That looks like your niece, Mrs. St. John ; 
but of course it can’t be, — on foot.” 

“ Hallo ! ” cried little Clarence, who was walk- 
ing on the piazza railing : “ there ’s Pomp and 
Leslie.” 

“ It is no such thing, sir,” said his mother. 
“ Go to bed this moment. It must be Mr. Ca- 
vello. They have had an accident, I am sure.” 

Long seconds of waiting followed. 

Mrs. Stevens put up her glasses again. 

“ It is your niece and your servant,” she said. 
“ I am afraid something has happened. But 
don’t be anxious, Mrs. St. John. Miss Leslie 
is safe: she will explain all to us.” 

Pomp came up the side steps wearily, his arms 
full of bundles. Leslie’s face was pale, and the 
traces of tears were about her eyes. 

“ What is the matter } ” exclaimed Mrs. St. 
John. “Is Mr. Cavello killed.? Tell me at 
once.” 

“ Nobody is hurt, Aunt Marie,” said Leslie, in 
a strained voice. “ Will you come to your roora< 
please ? ” 


1 82 THE COLONEL'S OP EE A CLOAK. 


“ Well,” said the ladies to each other, “ there is 
something very queer here, — going on a drive, 
and walking home. If she refused the man, 
he might at least have brought her back. She 
must have expected him to-day : you know she 
did not want to go with us. And she came 
from the depot, too. There is something under 
all this, you may be sure.” 

Mrs. Stevens put up her eye-glasses and 
looked quizzically at the ladies’ toilettes. A 
little laugh went round the circle. They had 
dressed, weary as they were, and had hurried 
through tea, for the pleasure of s.eeing Leslie St. 
John and old Pomp walk up the road. 

One of the young ladies burst into a merry 
laugh, and it jarred on Mrs. St. John’s ears as 
it floated in at her window. 

“ Well, Leslie,” said she, sitting bolt upright 
on the hardest chair in the room, “ what does 
this mean ? Here I ’ve ordered a hot supper for 
you and Mr. Cavello ; and there we were sitting, 
waiting to see you drive up in fine style, and, lo 
and behold, you come trudging along the country 
road with an old nigger. I don’t wonder the 
ladies are laughing. Spiteful things ! ” 

“ O Aunt Marie,” said Leslie, trembling so 
that she could not stand, “ I ’ll tell you all about 
it.” And she recounted the day’s adventure, 
assisted in the last part by Pomp, who was un 
dressing Clarence in the next room. 


/ 

rHE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


183 


“ If it hadn’t been for Pomp,” said Leslie, “ I 
don’t know what I should have done.” 

“No, she wouldn’t,” cried Pomp. “When I 
see de Colonel’s op’ra cloak rushin’ froo de street, 
I fought de end ob de world am come. I called 
out to him, an’ I run after him tell I ketched 
him. Ef it hedn’t ben for dat op’ra cloak, I 
s’pecs by dis time Miss Leslie would hev” — 

“ Be still. Pomp ! ” said Mrs. St. John. 

“ I was so frightened,” continued Leslie, “ I 
didn’t know where we were.” 

“ Yer didn’t.? ” said Pomp, amazed. “Why, 
yer was in de city ! Whar did yer think yer 
was .? ” 

“ I didn’t know what part of the city we were 
in ; and oh ! he was so determined to make me go 
to a priest’s with him, and get married.” 

“ Well, for my life, I cannot see any thing so 
wonderful in this. A gentleman asks you to 
drive, and offers himself. I ’m sure that was 
very honorable in him,” said Mrs. St. John, 
sharply. “ There are very few rich, fashionable 
young men who want to marry a poor girl with- 
out a cent to her name. I should think you 
were old enough to know how pleased your uncle 
would have been. I don’t see how you could 
have refused such a chance.” 

“ I wish I had married him, and then thrown 
myself into the sea,” cried Leslie, with a flood of 
tears. 


1 84 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK ^ 


“ Rather late in the day to repent now,” said 
Mrs. St. John, sighing. “ I 'm sure I am only 
thinking of your prospects, Leslie. Well, it 
can’t be helped now. I only wish Mr. Douglas 
was as anxious to get you. You wouldn’t jump 
into the sea then, I reckon.” 

Leslie slipped away to her room, and cried 
herself to sleep. 

Mrs. St. John was very much displeased with 
Pomp: she wouldn’t let him unlace her boots 
that night. 

“ I just wish,” said she, “ you would mind your 
own affairs. What business of yours was it, if 
Miss Leslie married Mr. Cavello } ” 

“ It wa’n’t my besiness ef Miss Leslie hed 
married Massa Cavello ; but ’twas my besiness 
ef Massa Cavello hed married Miss Leslie,” said 
Pomp, stoutly. “ Dis ain’t no way, — to hev 
her driv’ into gittin’ married. Yer done suited 
yerself. Miss Marie, ef yer didn’t please ole 
Massa.” 

“ O Pomp ! I should think you would be 
ashamed to speak so to your poor, sick mistress. 
The Colonel is away amusing himself, and I am 
left in poverty, with these boys and a niece all 
on my hands.” And Mrs. St. John put on an 
injured air, and wiped her eyes, and sighed. 

Oh, come, come ! ” said Pomp, cheerfully ; 
** dis isn’t no way to go on. Yer s got free 


THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. 1 85 


beaucherful boys, an’ Miss Leslie ; an’ yer ’s 
young an’ harnsome, an’ de Colonel 'tinks dere 
ain’t nobody else in de world only you. Don’t 
tink no more ’bout Mr. Cavello. He wa’n’t de 
one for Miss Leslie. I’se set Massa Tom off 
for her.” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” said Mrs. St. John, despondently. 

You can set him off, to the end of time ; but I 
don’t believe he wants to marry her.” 

“I knows he does,” said Pomp, confidently. 

“ How do you know } ” inquired Mrs. St. 
John. 

“I know by de way he looks at her an’ 
acts wid her.” 

How does he look and act with her. Pomp 
Wall, he looks at her kind o’ steddy-like, an’ 
den he looks at oder folks like as ef he ’d say, 
‘ Who yer, roun’ here, makin’ b’lieve yer ’r harn- 
some, ’cause yer got eyes an’ nose an’ mouf.? 
Nobody ain’t wuth lookin’ at ’cept jes Miss 
Leslie.’ An’ when she says suthin,’ ef ’tain’t no 
more dan, ‘ Whar ’s my par’sol .^ ’ or ‘ Pass me de 
butter,’ he looks mighty pleased, ’s ef she was de 
fust ’oman dat ever spoke a word, an’ he looks 
roun’ to see ef ev’body ain’t list’nin’ an’ a’mirin’ 
of her. Oh, yer see if Massa Tom ain’t down 
here putty soon after her ! ” 

After a time, Mrs. St. John allowed herself to 
be comforted, and went to sleep, feeling that she 


lS6 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


had done all that could be expected of her to- 
wards righting the wrongs of life. 

Leslie had such a headache that she did not 
get up to breakfast. 

Mrs. St. John had determined to put the best 
face on affairs ; and so she dressed herself care- 
fully, and with a cheerful smile went down to the 
dining-room. 

She was not going to have these Yankees 
think that Leslie had been jilted ; but she had 
not decided whether to say that Leslie had run 
off with Mr. Cavello and been dragged back by 
Pomp, or that Mr. Cavello had carried her off 
against her will, and Pomp had rescued her ; 
whether to represent her as forsaking the love 
of a splendid young fellow without money for a 
world-worn man who had unlimited wealth, or to 
give her the character of a young and inexpe- 
rienced girl, who had thrown away a wonderful 
chance for the romance of love and poverty. 

Before she had fairly made up her mind what 
to say, Mrs. Stevens, whose delicacy never over- 
balanced her curiosity, drew her chair up close to 
Mrs. St. John, and asked how Miss Leslie was, 
and said that they were all so fond of her that 
they hoped nothing unpleasant had occurred. 

“ Oh, no ! ” said Mrs. St. John. “ It was only 
that old fool of a Pomp, who made a great fuss out 
of nothing.” Then she went on to explain, with 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 1 87 . 


a fine, easy flow of improvisation, that Mr. Cavello, 
having heard of Mr. Douglas’s visit, had become 
very jealous. So, after inviting Leslie to drive, 
he had gone on until he reached the city, and 
had tried to induce her to be married that day, 
so as to secure her. But Leslie, of course, like all 
girls, wanted a trousseau and a grand wedding, 
and had not fairly made up her mind what to do, 
when Pomp stumbled upon the party, and urged 
Leslie to come home, and made a sad picture of 
how her aunt would feel, and what her uncle would 
say, until he finally persuaded her to come back 
with him ; and of course ?dr. Cavello was very 
angry, and told Leslie to choose, once for all. 

“ If she is going to marry him at all, I ’m sure I 
wish she had done so yesterday, — if they wanted 
to be romantic. It would have saved me a world 
of trouble. We shall have another scene in a 
day or two, when Mr. Cavello gets over his pique. 
I hope he and Mr. Douglas won’t meet in the 
mean time. 

“ Poor old Pomp thinks every one in the fam- 
ily belongs to him ; and he meddles and inter- 
feres, till I often wish he had run off with the 
others ; but he can’t be sent off, of course.” 

Leslie became quite a sensation. The young 
ladies looked at her with admiration. How 
elegant to be run away with, like a girl in a 
novel ! 


l88 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


I always supposed,” remarked Miss Merriam, 
“ that when people ran away they had post- 
horses and a postilion in bottle-green livery, with 
pistols, and that the young lady’s head was for- 
ever out of the window to see if her papa was after 
them, and that a big brother was invariably in 
hot pursuit. I never dreamed that one could be 
so romantic with a stable-horse and a buggy, 
and one old black man.” 

The next two days passed, without a word 
from Mr. Cavello. Mrs. St. John was vexed. 
It looked as if he was going to drop the affair. 

The third day brought a letter from the 
Colonel. Mrs. St. John read it on the piazza, 
and, looking at Leslie, said, — 

“ I ’ll see you, for a moment, in my room. 
Here is something about you, my young lady.” 

Of course they all thought Mr. Cavello was 
trying to make up with the injured aunt. 

“Well,” said Mrs. St. John, rejoining the 
group of ladies on the piazza, “do pity me. 
Leslie is so changeable that I can’t do any 
thing. I never saw anybody so set^ as they 
say here. I sha’n’t say a word more. They 
may settle it for themselves.” 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 1 89 


CHAPTER X. 

A WET spell” had come, as Uncle Peter 
said. It rained, day after day. 

Mrs. St. John was indignant. 

This was pretty weather for the sea-shore! 
She had no thick dresses ; and so she stayed in 
bed, with the Colonel’s opera cloak about her. 

Leslie had enough to do to amuse the boys. 
She kept them in the bowling-alley as much as 
she could. 

One day a letter came from the Colonel. He 
had some fine project in hand, and wanted them 
all to come to him. 

Mrs. St. John sent for the landlord, and rep- 
rimanded him severely for bringing her there 
under false pretences. 

“It’s just like the middle of winter. You 
live here every year, and of course you knew 
about it. I shouldn’t feel legally obliged to pay 
you a cent for the time I have been here, for 
I came for the warm sun and for pleasant sea 
air ; but make out your bill, and I ’ll pay it at 


IQO THE COLONEHS OPERA CLOAK. 


once. I must go back to town to-day, or I shall 
be dead to-morrow.” 

So Pomp and Leslie packed the trunks. Poor 
Leslie ! Her “ next time ” was never to be here 
by the beautiful sea, nor on these lovely country 
roads. 

They were ready for the noon train. The 
landlord was very rude. He said that they had 
engaged for the summer, and were bound 
to pay for it; but Mrs. St. John said, “Yes, 
for summer, not for winter.” She expected that 
he would have sleighing before long, if he kept 
on at this rate. 

The poor man almost thought himself the 
clerk of the weather, before she left. 

Pomp had gone in an earlier train, to open the 
house ; and Leslie, who was the guide, mistook 
the time, and they had to wait an hour at the 
station. 

Leslie never forgot that hour. She almost 
thought, from her aunt’s severe remarks, that 
she had made it, and tacked it on to the usual 
twenty-four. 

At last, at dark, in a pouring rain, they reached 
the house. 

Pomp had made a fire in the furnace. Mrs. 
St. John’s spirits rose as she grew warm. 

“ We may as well go to the Colonel at once,” 
she said. “ We could start to-morrow, J" it 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. IQT 


wasn’t for our things here. What shall we do 
with them ? We shall have to auction them off, 
I think. I ’m sure we have paid this landlord 
enough, without giving him the things we have 
bought ourselves. But I am afraid it will be a 
heap of trouble to have an auction.” 

Oh, no, it won’t,” said Pomp. “ It isn’t never 
no trouble to sell tings : it ’s trouble to buy 
’em. Why, ef yer buy, yer has to go out, an’ 
yer has to spend yer money ; but, in sellin’, yer 
jes stays in de house, an’ gits money fur 
tings yer doesn’t want an’ can’t kerry off wid 
yer, nohow.” 

“ But every thing is a trouble,” returned Mrs. 
St. John. “ If it wasn’t for the heat it would 
make in the house, I ’d burn all our things up, 
to save the trouble of selling them.” 

“Yer couldn’t burn de piano up,” said Pomp. 
" Yer couldn’t git it into de furnace.” 

“ What an old fool you are ! ” said Mrs. St. 
John. “ Let us look over the things, Leslie, and 
make a list. Here ’s the piano, and that red 
velvet chair, and those vases, and ” — 

“ And the towel-rack, and the foot-rest, and 
the slipper-case I bought at the church fair,” 
added Leslie. 

“ Yes ; and the gilt shaving-stand the Colonel 
bought, the last time he came on. 

“ I suppose,” she added, turning to Pomp, 
“ that there are heaps of broken things.” 


192 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK, 


“Yes, missus; but all on ’em ain’t ourn. 
We ’ve broke a good many of de lan’lord’s. 
We ain’t no right to sell dem, hev we ? ** 

“ We ’ll put all our broken things into barrels, 
and get rid of them in that way,” said Mrs. St. 
John. 

“ De barrels is all done broke dereselfs,” re- 
plied Pomp. 

“Well, trunks, then,” said Mrs. St. John. 
“ Don’t pick me up so. Pomp ! ” 

“ De trunks ! Massy gracious ! ” cried Pomp. 
“Yer doesn’t want to sell yer trunks, full o’ 
broken traps, and kerry yer clo’es Souf in yer 
ban’s, does yer ? ” 

“We shall have some on us,” said Mrs. St. 
John, with dignity. “Very few people travel 
without clothes in this country, if they do in 
yours. 

“ But if you won’t use trunks,” she added, 
“tie the things up in sheets.” 

“ De sheets ain’t ourn : dey b’longs to de 
house. Dey wouldn’t hold much, any way. De 
boys hes used ’em so much fur tents, an’ hes 
wrastled so in bed, an’ fired de pillers roun’ so 
free, dat de cases is — well, yer kin git in mos* 
anywhar, an’ out mos’ any whar too ; an’ de fed- 
ders flies out o’ dem pillers like as ef yer was 
shakin’ a chicken. Ef I was yer, Miss Marie, 
I ’d leave dem broke tings fur de lan’lord to 
cl’ar up.” 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 195 


“ So I will. Horrid old thing ! It would 
serve him just right,” said Mrs. St. John. 

“ Now look at that ceiling, Leslie,” she added : 
“ did you ever see any thing like it ? ” 

“ The boys did that,” said Leslie. 

“Well,” said Mrs. St. John, “they learned to 
make them here. I ’m sure I never heard of a 
•spit-bair until I came North. What a house 
this was to let to a gentleman’s family ! We 
have paid rent enough for it. Just look at that 
spot on the sofa. Ugh ! it is sticky.” 

“ I reckon that was some of our medicine, 
that we ’ve had round. That isn’t any thing,” 
said Clarence. 

“ And those lace curtains ! What a color ! The 
landlord will do those up before he lets the house 
again, if he has any kind of decency, — which I 
shouldn’t judge he had,” said Mrs. St. John. 

“ They were fresh when we came,” said Leslie. 

“ Of course they were : he couldn’t expect to 
let a house with soiled curtains, could he ? ” 

“ I reckon de piano ’ll fotch a heap,” said 
Pomp, who had been attentively listening to the 
conversation. “ We ought to ’tend to de auction 
tings now.” 

“You must rub up the piano, Pomp,” said 
Leslie. “You know Clarence and Wilfrid used 
to spring on it dreadfully, when they ran round 
the parlor over all the furniture.” 


194 the COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


wonder you would allow them to act so, 
Leslie,” said Mrs. St. John. “ I should no moie 
think of jumping on a piano than on a looking- 
glass.” 

“ I danced a clog-dance on it one night,” said 
Clarence ; “ and we put paper inside of it, and 
Arthur thumped on the keys like a banjo. Oh, 
it was awful funny music ! ” 

Pomp examined the piano critically. 

“ Some parts shows de boot-heels, but it ain’t so 
bad as it mought be,” said he, — it took a great 
deal to surprise Pomp, — “I thinks a little grease 
would put it in putty good shape.” 

“All the keys don’t go,” said Clarence. 
“There’s a pin in one. I can see it.” 

“You can shut it down, for the auction,” said 
his mother. “ Oh, no, you can’t, either. I ’ll 
wager a good bit they ’ll want to hear the tone : 
it would be just like these Yankees. That chair 
is all right, isn’t it } ” 

“Yes,” said Leslie. “The springs are good, 
— only, aunty, I think there are moths in it.” 

“Very likely. It was bought North,” said 
Mrs. St. John. “I wouldn’t trust a Northerner 
while I turned my head round. It was bought 
with moths in it, if they are there. We can’t 
sell a chair better than we buy it, of course. 

“You can pin a tidy over that stained place 
on the back, Leslie, and it can go with the 
chair. 


^HE COLONEL^S OPERA CLOAK, 195 


We must put a high price on every thing,” 
she continued, “ because I Ve always heard that 
people insist on beating down, at auctions.” 

“ Who ’s going to say, ‘ Going, going, gone ' ? ” 
asked Clarence. 

“ I s’pose I is,” said Pomp. I does ’mos* 
ev’ry ting.” 

“ No,” said Mrs. St. John, “ I shall send for 
a man who makes a business of it. If I am 
going to have an auction. I’ll have one.” 

Pomp went at once to the grocer, who directed 
him to an auctioneer. 

The man came to look over the house, and 
was surprised to see how little was to be sold 
but that was none of his business. He said he 
would set the day, and then advertise it a few 
times. 

“ Advertise it ! ” exclaimed Mrs. St. John. 
“ What in the world would you advertise it for ? 
You don’t suppose people are coming here from 
the four corners of the earth, to buy a few old 
things, do you } Besides, I am going away day 
after to-morrow. I ’ll have the auction to-mor- 
row. You’ve got a flag, haven’t you? I never 
heard of an auctioneer who had not. 

“ But be sure,” she called after him, “ not to 
put up a small-pox flag, and make the people 
afraid to come in.” 

When the flag was flung to the breeze, Mrs. 


196 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


St. John seated herself at a front window, to 
inspect the people who came up the steps. 

When any one appeared whose looks did not 
please her, she called to Pomp not to let him in, 
or to tell him it wasn’t time, and that he would 
better come back day after to-morrow ; adding, 
in a low tone, “ when we shall be all cleared up 
and gone.’" 

Before the auction began, Mrs. St. John and 
Leslie seated themselves in the back parlor, 
where they could see what was going on, through 
a crack between the sliding-doors. 

Pomp stayed in the front parlor, where the 
auction was to take place, to keep an eye on 
things, and see that the auctioneer did his 
duty. 

Several of the neighbors, to whom the St. 
Johns had afforded a great deal of excitement, 
and who knew that the house had been let 
furnished, came in to look on. 

About thirty people had assembled in the hall 
and parlor at the appointed hour. 

“ Pomp ! Pomp ! ” called Mrs. St. John. Pomp 
went to the crack, and looked ir. with one eye. 

“ I don’t like the looks of those men over 
there,” said the lady, in a loud whisper, loud 
enough to be heard by those standing near. 
'‘You must keep a sharp eye on them. They 
look like Jews. We ought to have had a po- 
liceman here, to watch.” 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. I97 


The people looked at each other, and felt like 
pickpockets. 

The auctioneer’s voice broke the silence. 

“The first thing offered for sale in this elegant 
house is a superb piano, for which seven hun 
dred and fifty dollars was paid, six short months 
ago.” 

“ What a whopper ! ” said Clarence. “ It only 
cost three hundred, — the legs were so scratched 
up.” 

“The lady assures me that seven hundred and 
fifty dollars was its price,” said the man, looking 
threateningly at the impudent boy who was try- 
ing to ruin his sale. 

Leslie glanced inquiringly at her aunt. 

“ The man said it was marked at that price, and 
was worth it, — only he let me have it cheap,” 
said Mrs. St. John, in answer to her look. 

“ Clarence ! ” she called. “ Come into this room, 
this moment.” 

Every one turned toward the back parlor. 

“The tone is equal to that of a Steinway,” 
continued the auctioneer. “ I might play ‘Green- 
ville ’ myself, but I suppose some one here can 
display it to better advantage.” 

No one stirred ; and so he ran his fingers ovei 
the keys, and soon knocked off the instrument 
for one hundred and fifty dollars, — “ Which was 
enough for the old thing,” Mrs. St. J jhn said. 


198 THE COLONEHS OPERA CLOAK. 


“ Well, here is a clock. Who will bid on this ? 
It is an elegant French clock, — runs a week.” 

“ It runs two, if you run with it,” said Wilfrid : 
and he and Arthur laughed. 

“ Did we buy that, or does it belong to the 
house } ” whispered Mrs. St. John to Leslie. 

‘‘To the house, I think,” she replied. “ I wasn't 
here at the first, you know.” 

“ I ’ll give you five dollars,” said a man. 

“ Five-fifty,” said another. 

“ Six dollars.” 

Mrs. St. John beckoned to Pomp. 

“ Nobody can’t buy dat,” Pomp called out, in a 
loud voice, “ ’cause it doesn’t b’long to us. We 
forgot. Dat ’s de lan’lord’s clock.” 

Every one laughed. 

“ Well, here,” said the man, “ is a towel-rack, 
not owned by the landlord, and worked by fair 
fingers, doubtless. Some young bachelor would 
find this priceless. Five dollars it is marked. 
It is a bunch of while lilies worked on a back- 
ground of — of — blue.” 

“ Gas-light green,” said a young lady near him. 

“ On a background of gas-light green,” he 
repeated. “It is useful as well as ornamental, 
and worth double its price.” 

“ I only paid three for it,” whispered Leslie. 

“ I knew they would beat him down, and so I 
marked it five,” replied her aunt, with a business* 
like air. 


THE COLONEL^S OPERA CLOAK. 199 


** One dollar,” called a voice from the hall. 

“ What a mean man !” said Mrs. St. John, in 
a loud whisper, which was heard in the front 
parlor. 

“ One dollar twenty-five, — one-fifty, — two 
dollars.” 

“ Gone, — at two dollars ! ” 

“ Stingy enough, I am sure,” said Mrs. St. 
John, half-aloud. 

“ This red velvet chair is in good condition. 
Springs in order. Tidy goes with it, and gives 
it a feminine and homelike air. As the poet 
asks, — 

‘ What 's a chair without a tidy ? * ** 

“It’s a chair,” giggled Wilfrid’s voice from 
behind the door. 

The people looked at each other, and laughed. 
They had never attended such a sale before. 
The auctioneer was amused, too : it seemed like 
playing at auction 

At length, after various bids, the chair was 
sold. 

A vase was just being carried off, when Mrs. 
St. John remembered that that wasn’t hers. 

“ The pink pair are mine, — on the mantel- 
piece,” she called, through the crack. 

The woman who had bought the large vase 
was very angry. 


200 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK 


Why do you have an auction/’ she asked. 
“ if you haven’t any thing to sell ? ” 

“We have/’ replied Mrs. St. John, through the 
crack. 

“ Why don’t you sell it, then, and know your 
own mind } ” 

“ Why don’t you buy the things we own, and 
not the things which belong to the landlord ^ ’ 
replied again the invisible proprietress. 

“ These pink vases,” said the auctioneer 
pointing to the mantel-piece, “ are very rare, I 
am told. The pictures on them are gems of 
art, — shepherd and shepherdess, surrounded by 
flock, — landscape in the distance. I have never 
seen a pair like them before. I should judge 
they were Sevres or Dresden china, only that 
the mark of seven dollars shows that they must 
be of less value. But perhaps their value was not 
known. At any rate, they are very beautiful, 
and evidently a great bargain, such as one meets 
with only once in a lifetime.” 

“ I didn’t know they were so valuable,” said 
Mrs. St. John, in a low tone, to Leslie. “ I 
bought them at a ninety-nine-cent store ; but, if 
they are such a bargain, I ’ll just keep them 
myself.” 

The people were beginning to bid, when Mrs. 
St. John called out, — 

“ You need not sell those vases. I think I’ll 
keep them myself.” 


THE COLONEL OPERA CLOAK. 201 


A laugh went around the room. 

“ The slipper-case and foot-rest, — will you 
keep those too, Madame } asked the auctioneer 
turning toward the crack. 

“You can sell them, if you get their value: 
otherwise, I will keep them myself,” called out 
the voice. “ I want ten dollars for the foot-rest, 
and seven for the slipper-case.” 

Nobody bid, and the auctioneer laid them 
aside. 

Pomp came forth from the back parlor. 

“ Missus says she don’t know as she keers foi 
de slipper-case, after all, an’ she ’ll let it go for 
free dollars, ef somebody ’ll buy de foot-rest for 
four.” 

Several spoke at once. A laugh was raised, 
and the articles were knocked down. 

“ Is this satin furniture for sale ? ” asked some 
one in the hall. 

“ No.” 

“ These draperies and mirrors ? ” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Any thing in the other parts of the house ? 

“ No, Madame.” 

“ What is for sale } ” 

“ Here is a trunk, for one thing, — locked, — 
key can’t be found, — sold on speculation.” 

“ Two dollars,” said a second-hand-clothes man, 
who looked like a second-hand man. 

“ Two seventy-five,” said his neighbor. 


202 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


“ Massy gracious ! ” cried Pomp, don’t bid no 
more ! I done forgot till dis blessed minute dat 
dat ar trunk was Massa Cavello’s. I ’spect dar 
ain’t much in it, or he ’d ha’ sent fur it. Any 
how, dat ain’t ourn, an’ we ain’t got no right to 
sell it. I ’ll fin’ out whar his club is, an’ sen’ it 
to him, though he don’t desarve to git it.” 

“This gilt shaving-stand,” resumed the auc- 
tioneer, after Pomp’s episode, as he moved aside 
the trunk, will go at a good bargain. In the 
morning, when the light is perhaps rather dim, 
or at eve, when the bureau-glass does not catch 
a good light, this small stand can be easily 
moved about, and afford comfort to the man 
who would otherwise appear to his friends with 
black court-plaster covering ghastly wounds, 
made not by ‘ the envious Casca,’ but by his own 
hand.” 

A slight young man, who had the air of a 
piano-tuner, and who had bid off the piano, 
attracted the eye of the auctioneer. He had 
light hair, smooth cheeks, and a thin mustache. 

“ Here, young man, it would serve your pur- 
pose well ! Shall I look to you for a bid ? ” 

“You’d better help him get more hair: he 
can’t raise what he wants now,” cried Wilfrid, 
from behind the hall-door. 

The young man wanted to kill him. 

At last, the shaving-stand was disposed of. 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 203 


“ Here is a boy’s jacket, with a jack-knife in 
the pocket, and a few marbles.” 

The auctioneer could not help laughing : it 
seemed so absurd to sell one old jacket, in this 
elegant house. 

At the words “ jack-knife ” and “ marbles,” 
Clarence rushed into the parlor, and when he 
beheld the jacket he burst into a flood of tears. 

“ Give me that jacket, you old fool ! ” said he. 
“ Those are the things I gave Jasper when he 
was sick, and he ’s dead now. I tell you, give it 
to me. It’s his jacket ! ” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Pomp, the tears running down 
his cheeks : “ dat don’t go. I dunno whar dat 
ar’ jacket come from now. Dat war what my 
poor little gran’son hed on to him when he died, 
a-lyin’ on dat very red satin soffy. No, no : we 
can’t sell little dead boys’ clo’es ! Miss Marie 
ain’t so pore as dat yit.” 

Two ladies got up hastily from the sofa: one 
of them had to stop to pull away her sash-fringes 
which adhered to the cover. 

The auctioneer handed the jacket to Pomp, 
hardly knowing whether swear or laugh. 

Well,” said he, “ we will try once more, hop- 
ing that the party to whom this belongs is in 
fine health and spirits, and willing to part with 
his clothes.” 

“ Here is a fine cloak, — a military cloak, I 
should say. It is of fine ” — 


204 the colonel^ s opera cloak. 


** Oh ! Nobody mustn’t make no bid on dat/ 
called Pomp, in a loud voice. “ Dat can’t be sold, 
nohow : dat b’longs to de Colonel, an’ wa’n’t 
never meant to be sold. Massy gracious ! Why, 
don’t you know ! Dat ’s de Colonel’s op’ra cloak, 
— Colonel St. John’s.” 

“ No, don’t sell that ! ” cried Mrs. St. John, 
through the crack. “ Of course that can’t be 
sold : anybody might have known that. We 
are not second-hand-clothes men.” 

“ What did you put it here for, if it wasn’t 
to be sold ? ” asked the auctioneer, in a little 
temper. 

“ I didn’t put it dar,” said Pomp. “ It hed to 
be somewhar or ’noder, didn’t it I don’t ’spect 
yer to sell yer own clo’es, jes’ ’cause dey happens 
to be in dis house.” 

“ I vouldn’t puy dat gloak, if dare vant notin’ 
more to puy in de vorld,” said the little Jew to 
his friend. “ Dat gloak gum near to geddin’ me 
inder drouble. I dought de devil vas in him dat 
night.” 

“ But he vas a goot gloak,” said his friend, 
regretfully, looking after it. “And de leedle 
goat, — das vas a goot leedle goat. I likes to puy 
gloes mit bockets in ’em. I finds dings in de 
bockets, somedimes.” 

The little Jew looked admiringly at his friend : 
he had learned a new point in business. 


I'HE COLONEL OPERA CLOAK, 20 $ 


“ Well, is there any thing else to be sold ? ” 
asked the auctioneer. 

“No,” said Pomp. “Yer hev sold all deie is 
and more ’n dere is.” 

“ And now I hope you are satisfied,” said Mrs. 
St. John, in a low voice. “That man is a mono 
maniac, Leslie. He wants to sell every thing he 
can lay his hands on.” 

The people were soon gone, and Mrs. St. John 
proceeded to settle with the auctioneer. 

“ How much do you ask for selling these 
things } Not much, of course, for they were 
my own things.” 

“ Well, five dollars will satisfy me,” said the 
man. 

“I should think it might! You hadn’t rent 
to pay, or any thing that other people have to 
spend money for. Yours must be a very paying 
business,” she said. 

Sinking into an easy-chair, after the auctioneer 
was gone, she cried : “ I declare, I am almost 
tired to death. I was never so sick of anybody 
in my life as I was of that auctioneer. I thought 
he never would get off till he had sold every one 
of us ; and you ’d think, to hear him go on about 
things, that he owned them all. I pity his wife, 
if his tongue runs that way all the time.” 

“ It makes yer feel kind o’ solemn too, doesn’t 
it,” said Pomp, “ to see tings go out o’ de house 


206 THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK 


yer ’s used to seein’ in it, — kind o’ like a fune- 
real. I wanted to grab dem men by de ha’r, when 
dey kerried off our planner.” 

“ It would have been a pretty sight,” said Mrs. 
St. John, to have had the police in. Dear, 
dear, dear ! How can the Colonel leave all this 
care on me ” 

“ Pomp,” she added, ** you count out the rent, 
and put it into an envelope, and send it to the 
landlord the morning we go away ; for, if he 
knows we are going, he ’ll be looking about and 
asking impertinent questions. When he does 
get here, he ’ll find his house all ready to move 
right into ; and we shall be out of his way, and 
give him no trouble whatever.” 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 207 


CHAPTER XI. 



HE day after their arrival in town, Leslie 


had sent Arthur to the Doctor’s. She 
longed to find out, if possible, whether Mr. Ca- 
vello had told the truth about Tom. She could 
not believe it, when she remembered his manner 
towards her, and the tones of his voice. She was 
so sincere herself that it was hard for her to 
believe that others were not so. Arthur had re- 
turned with the melancholy news that the family 
had all gone to the mountains. 

How crookedly things do go sometimes ! Oh, 
how could she go away without thanking Mrs. 
Douglas for her kindness, and Bessie, and the 
Doctor, and Tom ! How could she go, and 
never say “ Good-by ” to him ! 

Poor little Leslie ! There had been dull days 
and tiresome days, and the tears had found their 
way often and easily to her eyes ; but there had 
never been a cut like this ! She cried herself tc 
sleep that night. 

She sent Pomp to the Doctor’s to ask when 


208 the COLONEL'S OPEL A CLOAK. 


the family would return. The Doctor was at 
home, and said he thought they would be back 
in a week. 

A week ! A year would be no worse. She 
could not tell them where she was going, for 
her uncle had only designated a railway junc- 
tion, where he was to meet them ; and she did not 
know how to leave any address, nor did her 
atmt. 

Mrs. St. John had lost her interest in Tom, 
since he had failed to do his duty while at the 
sea-shore. 

“I’m sure he was near enough to it. Any- 
body with half an eye could see that ! Why 
didn’t you bring him to the point } ” she asked. 

“ I couldn’t do such a thing,” said Leslie, with 
the tears in her eyes. “ I don’t know how.” And 
she added, with spirit : “ I wouldn’t if I could. 
If he cared any thing for me, he could have told 
me : if he didn’t, I wouldn’t have had him say 
so, if I could have made him ! ” 

“All very fine,” said Mrs. St. John, — “very 
fine, indeed! — especially in a poor girl fed and 
clothed by her relations, who are starving them- 
selves to do it, — taking the very bread out of 
their mouths, as it were. 

“You never mean to marry, I suppose. You 
sent Mr. Cavello away, you little goose ! ” 

“ And would you really like me to marry Mr. 


THE COLONEL^ S OPERA CLOAK. 209 


Cavello,’* said Leslie : “ a man nobody knows 
any tning about, and whom I hate ? Oh, why 
did you never have me learn to do something, 
so that I could sew, or sweep, or teach school, 
to earn my own living ? I would a thousand, 
thousand times rather do any thing, than to stay 
here, when you don’t want me ! ” 

Leslie did not wait until night to cry, this 
time. 

Pomp was quite in despair at the unfortunate 
turn affairs were taking. 

“ Now, chile,” said he, patting her pretty head, 
which was buried in her pillow, “ don’t yer min’ 
what Miss Marie says. She don’ mean nothin’. 
She ’s kind o’ cross dis mornin’. She frowed 
her shoe at me dis vary day. She didn’t hurt 
me none, but I hollered, an’ put my harnd up to 
my eye ; an’ den she was skeert, an’ said she didn’t 
mean to ; an’ I keeps it kind o’ shet up, when 
I goes into her room, so ’s to keep her skeert.” 

“O Pomp,” said Leslie, with a smothered 
voice, “it isn’t that. I don’t mind her much.” 

“I knows all ’bout it,” said Pomp. “An’ 
don’t yer be afeerd. When we gits all settled, 
yer kin write to Miss Bessie, an’ tell her whar 
yer is, an’ yer ’ll hear putty soon.” 

“ Oh, I shall never see them again,” said Les- 
lie, — “ never again. And I can’t thank them for 
being so kind to me. They’ve been kinder than 


210 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


anybody but you, Pomp. Oh, dear ! Oh, dear I 
I shall never see them again ! ” 

Pomp brought some cologne, and bathed her 
aching head, saying, — 

“ Dar, now ! dar, now ! Don’t yer cry no mo\ 
Yer jes’ go to sleep, an’ who kin tell what’ll 
happen when yer wakes up ” 

Nothing pleasant happened, however. Thurs- 
day came, and the house was closed. 

It was several weeks before the family were 
settled. They boarded in one country place and 
in another ; they went away from one city : they 
went to another. 

Finally, Mrs. St. John took to her bed, — it was 
her weapon of defence, — and announced that 
she should not move from that town until fall : 
she ’d been whisked about enough. 

That day, thinking that they seemed to be set- 
tled for a fortnight, at least, poor Leslie wrote a 
letter to Bessie. She looked out every single 
word in the dictionary, even the thes and the ofs. 

“ We are staying at ,” wrote Leslie, 

** and shall be here for two weeks. After that, 
uncle will take us to the country. He has some 
business there which is very important, and 
which he wants to look after himself. 

“ I wish you would answer me before we gf 
there. I want to hear from you. I was so soriy 


fHE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. 21 1 


not to bid you good-by and thank you for all 
your kindness. I shall never forget it. Give 
my love to your mother, and my kind regards to 
all the rest of your family.” 

How she wanted to ask where Tom was : 
what he was doing, saying, thinking ; how he 
was looking ; if he was well ; if he remembered 
her. 

“ Oh ! ” sighed she, “ if the things I Ve thought 
on to this paper could be read, what in the world 
would they think of me ^ ” 

Leslie gave the letter to her uncle to post. 
And there in his deep pocket it rested for many 
a day, while the girl watched and hoped and 
longed for an answer. Every step by the door, 
every knock, made her heart beat. 

The two weeks went by, and no letter came. 
She had thought just for a second, time; and time 
again, that Tom really liked her. But now she 
saw he had only meant to be kind and pleasant. 
Oh, how she wished he had been cold and dis- 
tant and cross, and had never made her think — 
although he had never tried to make her think 
— that he was fond of her. That she was sure 
of. No, he never would do so cruel a thing as 
that. Of course, anybody would like Miss Hen- 
derson best. Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! 

Then Leslie made up her mind that she would 
never think of Tom again, never once. Only, 


212 THE COLONEL OPERA CLOAK, 


when she said her simple prayer at night, she 
would ask God to make him happy always, even 
if she must be ijnhappy. 

The Doctor, whose head had little room for 
Ihe St. Johns and their affairs, forgot to speak 
Df their departure until Tom, on his return, said 
that he had half a mind to run down to the sea- 
shore, to call on the opera cloak. 

“ Let me see,” said the Doctor. “ Pomp came 
here one day to say they were all going away, 
somewhere. I forget where, if he told me. I 
don’t know whether they all went or not.” 

Tom walked to Margrave Street before going 
to his office. The house was empty ; the furni- 
ture was gone ; paperer and painter were hard at 
work. Leslie had vanished, as utterly as if she 
were dead. 

Tom wrote to the Elden House, to learn the 
Si. Johns’ address. The landlord did not know 
where they had gone. 

Tom wondered why Leslie did not write. 
She could write to Bessie, surely ; and she must 
know that he could not guess what part of the 
earth she had flown to, unless she told him. 

He was hurt through and through. Perhaps 
Mrs. St. John had whisked the girl off, to marry 
her to some old sinner with plenty of money. 
And he had meant to have a square talk with 


THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. 21 3 


her, the next time he went down, in spite of 
everybody and every thing. He would have done 
so that time, except for the opera cloak. He had 
never dreamed that the whole family could fly 
off, like a flock of birds, without warning. He 
had no need to wait until business came in to 
marry, thank fortune, if Leslie had wanted him. 
And he felt almost sure she did. He had a snug 
little property which his grandmother had left 
him. Well, what good was it now } He did not 
know where on earth to look for the girl. 

He went to see the landlord of the city house. 
He did not know where they had gone : he only 
wished he did. His elegant furniture was all 
ruined : he believed they kept a riding-school 
there. He took Tom for a fellow-sufferer. 

So the summer passed away, and the pleasant 
days of September and October. The Doctor’s 
family had nearly lost their interest in the St. 
Johns. Once in a while Pomp or his mistress 
was quoted, or t ne opera cloak was referred to. 

One evening Tom went to Mrs. Ackerman’s, 
and told her about the matter. 

“ Don’t despair,” said she, looking at her hus- 
band, who w'as working away at the other end 
of the room. “Every thing will come right, if 
you care enough about her to wait and look, and 
not fall in love with some other pretty girl 


2X4 2'HE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


John and I had a long hard time, but we feel 
surer of each other than many who slip easily 
into love and marriage.” 

“ I have done all I can,” said Tom, “ and that ’s 
very little. I think she didn’t care a cent for 
me, or she would have written to my sister.” 

“ Oh, a thousand things may have happened. 
A letter may have been lost, — just think how 
many are lost, to keep up that great place at 
Washington! — and she may be waiting to hear 
from you.” 

I have thought,” said Tom, that perhaps 
her aunt has married her off, and so hustled her 
out of my way ; for I think she would have come 
to like me, if she had stayed here, and no othei 
fellow had been in the way.” 

“ Come to like you I ” said Mrs. Ackerman, 
laughing. “ Why, my dear boy, it was as plain 
as daylight that she had no eyes but for you. I 
never saw a face speak more plainly. She was a 
dear little girl, sweet and sincere. And yet she 
had a look about her pretty mouth which makes 
me think that Aunt St. John could not marry 
her off against her will.” 

“ ril tell you what I ’ll do,” said Tom. “ I ’ll 
*un on to the place where I last heard of the 
Colonel. Perhaps I can track him at one of 
the hotels : although I shouldn’t be surprised if 
the family were living in Egypt, or had settled 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 21 5 


at the South pole. They seem to own the magic 
carpet, and travel at will.” 

“ I would go,” said Mrs. Ackerman ; “ and, per- 
haps when you see your little lady-love, you ’ll find 
that the golden halo has disappeared, and you ’ll 
wonder why you ever took a fancy to her. And 
you ’ll at least get cured, if you don’t come home 
engaged.” 

“Get cured!” said Tom. “Thunder, I don’t 
want to get cured ! I don’t believe you know 
what it ’s like.” 

“ Do I not 1 ” said Mrs. Ackerman, smiling, 
and raising her eyebrows. She liked Tom for 
his pet. She liked to see him earnest and de- 
termined. 

“ She has never lived among people,” said Tom, 
fearful lest the conversation should turn from 
Leslie : “ she has never lived among people who 
knew any thing. But I lent her some books, and 
she got hold of the good points at once. She 
wants to learn every thing.” 

“The child has been neglected, that is very 
evident,” said Mrs. Ackerman ; “but your mother 
and Bessie would soon set her in order, and I ’ll 
take her under my wing, if she ’ll be taken. We 
are going abroad next year. What a very nice 
thing it would be, if you would join us ! It would 
be the best thing in the world for your little 
girl." 


2l6 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


“ Go on,” said Tom. “ Say more, tell me I ’m en- 
gaged to her, tell me I 'm married to her, tell me 
I ’m abroad. I will believe it all, — you have such 
a way of putting things. Come, bring Leslie 
out, — I know she ’s behind your screen.” 

“ I wish she were,” said Mrs. Ackerman, laugh- 
ing. “ Stay to tea, Tom, and then go home 
early. Start on your trip to-morrow, and write 
me when you find your bonnie Leslie.” 

Mrs. Douglas was very suspicious and very 
anxious when Tom said he was going to take a 
little trip ; but she did not say a word, for fear of 
putting something into his head which might 
not be there. It was true, as Tom said : he 
needed a change. He had been very cross 
lately : his mother said he had been nervous. 

Tom felt as if he had been hardly used. His 
friends, when they were in his place, had smooth 
enough sailing. They knew the street and num- 
ber where the sweetheart lived ; and the very 
name was on the door ; and there was a bell that 
would ring, and a person to answer it ; and 
there was a parlor, and the young lady was in it. 

Alas ! his little girl was on Greenland’s icy 
mountains or India’s coral strand, for all he knew 
All the bells in creation would not bring her in 
sight. 

Bessie packed Tom’s clothes, and told him, if 
he met the opera cloak, to commend her to it 


THE COLONEL OPERA CLOAK. 21 / 


In a search after truth, or any thing else, it is 
a comfort to have a definite point to aim at 
Tom had one. 

He went to all the hotels. The St Johns had 
beer at them all, at one time or another. He 
went to the clubs. The Colonel had always 
“just gone out” It seemed as if he was trying 
to elude Tom, for he was evidently in the city. 

I think myself that the waiters and servants 
were in league with the free, genial, fee-bestow- 
ing Colonel, and thought to rescue him from 
this leech-like creditor ; and part of the time 
the Colonel really was out of town. 

Tom had been looking about for a week. One 
day he was straggling along the street, very 
much discouraged, when he came upon a group 
of gentlemen. They were listening to one of the 
number, — a tall, stout man, with a slouched hat, 
— who was speaking very earnestly and gesticu- 
lating with fervor. 

Tom’s eye was caught. What was that he 
saw before him ! A blue cape, lined with red, 
flapping in the breeze. There were gilt clasps 
at the neck. Tom was about to embrace it and 
water it with his tears, when it occurred to him 
there might be other blue cloaks in the world 
But he boldly approached the wearer. 

“ Is this Colonel St. John } ” 

The gentleman turned and eyed him. 


21 8 THE LULUNEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


“ I am Colonel St. John, sir ! ” 

“ My name is Douglas,” said Tom. ** I Ve 
been trying to hunt you up for a week, to find 
where your family are now. They lived near us 
last winter, and I thought I would call, if they 
were in town.” 

“ Douglas ! Douglas ! ” Where had the Colonel 
heard the name The young man was well 
dressed, and a gentleman, — that was evident 
Perhaps he would buy lead-stock. 

The Colonel shook hands with Tom. 

“ My family are in town,” he said, “ for a little 
time. We are for a few days at the Lagrange 
House. They ’ll be glad to see you. Dine with 
us to-night at six.” 

Tom did not ask after Leslie. He could not 
trust his voice. 

He bade the Colonel good-by. He wanted to 
give him his purse ; he wanted to kiss him ; he 
thought him a ministering angel. 

He hurried to the hotel, and met Leslie face 
to face at the parlor door. 

The moment they met, Tom knew it was all 
right ; and Leslie knew it, too. 

‘‘ I am staying in the city for a few days,” 
said Tom ; “ and I came across the Colonel, and 
found where you were. 

“ Well,” he went on, looking at her with his 
** smiling eyes.” as Leslie called them, “I guess I 


THE COLONEL S OPERA CLOAK. 219 


won’t lie ! I came here to hunt you up, and now 
I ve found you. Are you a bit glad to see me ? ” 

“ Yes, if you want me to be,” said Leslie, half- 
crying, half-laughing. 

“ Is there no other fellow ” asked Tom. 

“ No,” said Leslie, shaking her head : “ nobody 
but Pomp. Where is Miss Henderson ? ” 

“ I don’t know, and I don’t care, — do you } ” 

“ No,” said Leslie, “ if you don’t.” 

“ Come back with me and see her,” said Tom. 
** Will you, Leslie ? ” 

“ I ’ll tell Aunt Marie you are here.” And the 
girl rushed up to her own room, and threw her- 
self on her bed, and hid her face in the pillow. 

“ He ’s come ! he ’s come ! ” she whispered. 

She saw that her eyes were shining, as she 
smoothed her hair, and that her cheeks were 
flushed. She was glad she was pretty. 

She went into her aunt’s room. 

Aur.t Marie, Mr. Douglas has come.” 

“ The Doctor ? ” asked Mrs. St. John, starting 
up, *‘pr his son ” 

“ His son.” 

“ Have you seen him ? Has he offered him- 
self to you ? ” 

“ Yes, — I don’t know,” said Leslie. 

Don’t know?” said Mrs. St. John, crossly. 
“ I reckon you would know, if he had ! What 
did he say ? ” 


220 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


“He said he had come on purpose to hunt me 
up ; and he asked me if I would go back with 
him to see Miss Henderson.” Leslie was a 
little confused. 

Mrs. St. John sank back upon the lounge. 

“ Did you say you would ? ” 

I didn’t say any thing,” said Leslie. “ I ran 
away.” 

“ I believe you are a natural fool,” said her 
aunt. “ Give me that dress on the chair. I ’ll 
be down in a minute.” 

Mrs. St. John was going to have no nonsense 
this time. But there was no need of her assist- 
ance. Tom came to meet her, and took both 
her hands in his. 

“ I am so glad to see you,” he said. “ Has 
Leslie told you I came to take her back with 
me, if she ’d go } Do you think she will } ” 

The idea of taking her back had never entered 
his head, before the words said themselves. 

Mrs. St. John’s heart lightened. This was 
plain talking ; there was no need of beating the 
bush. 

“ I don’t know,” she said, as if she had many 
minds on the subject. “ A great many men 
have wanted Leslie. There was one rich 
Cuban, — oh, you know Mr. Cavello, — and 
there are a great many others. I ’ve thought 
Leslie would make a great match.” 


^HE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 221 


" I have enough money/’ said Tom, “ for two 
of us. Did you know I had a little fortune of 
my own ? I wish it was a thousand times more, 
for Leslie’s sake.” 

This was pleasant. Mrs. St. John thawed. 

“ Leslie likes you better than any of the others. 
She confessed it before we left that cold place 
where you live. So, money or no money, I 
must let her go, I suppose.” 

Tom wrote home that night that he had 
found the St. Johns, and was engaged to Leslie, 
and that he would be married in a week, and bring 
her back. He was not going to let her slip away 
again. She was so good that he knew they 
would be delighted with her ; and she could 
hardly wait to see his mother. 

He wrote to Mrs. Ackerman : — 

“ ‘ I ’ve chased the antelope over the plain,* — 

that ’s Leslie ; 

‘ The tiger’s cub I ’ve bound with a chain,’ — 
that ’s her aunt ; 

* And the young gazelle with his silvery feet 
I ’ll bind for thee for a playmate sweet,’ — 

that ’s myself. 

“ I ’m going to bring Leslie home with me, and 
make sure of her. I expect I shall have a 
strong-minded woman on my hands yet. She 
says she ’s going to learn every thing. 


222 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


“ Thank you a thousand times for your kind 
ness. Leslie sends her love.” 

Pomp and the boys were delighted to see Tom. 
The boys borrowed his neckties and his handker- 
chiefs from his room, and wore them about with 
charming abandon. 

“We’ve all got one on,” said Clarence, touch 
ing his necktie, at dinner, and pointing to the 
other boys, as he nodded to Tom. Tom smiled 
back. Dear boys ! How he loved them. 

Mrs. St. John gave Leslie a hundred dollars, 
with which the Colonel had told her to “buy 
things.” Very little could be done in a week 
toward a wedding trousseau ; and Mrs. St. John 
was tired, and told Leslie she had better wait, 
and buy things when she got settled. 

The Colonel gave her on the sly two hundred 
dollars more. It was very generous in him, for 
he had hard work to get along, just then. Tom 
told Leslie that she had better keep it, and 
send it back when she wrote to them ; he had 
enough for all her “ gewgaws.” 

The Colonel blessed Tom, when that letter 
arrived. He had not known, on a second thought, 
how to get along without the money. 

“ I found a song about you,” said Leslie to 
Tom. “ I bought it at a music-store. I will sing 
it for you some time. It is : — 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 223 


“ ‘ Douglas, Douglas, tender and true ; * 

but it made me cry, it was so sad.” 

“ I don’t think it is very sad to be * tender and 
true,’ ” said Tom. “ I fancy you ’d cry by and 
by, if I wasn’t.” 

“ I shan’t be sad any more,” said Leslie : “ I’ m 
perfectly happy ; and you know I said that would 
pay me for all the unhappy days, — and it does.” 

“ Do you remember that tea of ours, and how 
you warmed my toast, and how cozy it was there } ” 
said Tom. “ I wanted to kiss you, — but I knew 
you would be angry.” 

“ I should have been angry,” said Leslie, “ but 
I should have liked it, — I mean if I’ d thought, 
— no, I mean ” — 

“ Oh, you needn’t explain,” said Tom. It ’s 
all right now.” 

So they were married, — Leslie wearing the 
white dress which she had worn at the hop. 
Pomp had helped her sew, — for he was “quite 
a seamster.” Mrs. St. John put on the 
dowers. 

The boys all cried : they loved Leslie dearly. 
Mrs. St. John pressed to her dry eyes a fine 
handkerchief. Her mission was accomplished; 
peace reigned in her soul. 

The Colonel beamed with content: he was 
glad to have Leslie happy. 


224 the COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK, 


Pomp was heart-broken for himself, but joyful 
for his darling. 

When Leslie bade them good-by, she kissed 
Pomp, and hugged him, and cried with all her 
heart. 

“ Don’t yer cry,” said Pomp, smiling a dis- 
torted smile through his tears. “Don’t cry.” 
Then he laid his hand on her head, and gave 
her his benediction : — 

“ May de Lord gib yer His massy-guard, an’ 
make yer de light ob His eyes an’ de joy ob His 
heart, an’ bress yer fur ever an’ ever. An’ now 
go forth, an’ take yer place ’mong de nations ob 
de ’arth, an’ flourish like a green-baize tree. 
Amen.” 

“You used to give me awful cuts, Leslie,” 
said Tom, when they were whirling away in the 
cars, “saying, ‘just for once,’ or ‘just for twice.* 
Now, my young lady, I have you ‘just for al- 
ways.’ ” 

“ It is very strange that no letter comes from 
Tom,” said Mrs. Douglas. “ We haven’t heard 
for a week.” 

One afternoon an expressman drove up to the 
Doctor’s house. He brought in an unknown 
trunk and a big package, marked with their 
number 


THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 225 


Tom will be here to tea,” said Mrs. Douglas, 
cheerfully. “ I was really getting worried, al- 
thDugh I might have remembered how he hates 
writing letters.” 

“Where did he get that strange trunk, and 
what 's in this package } ” said little Ned, cutting 
the string. 

There was a shout from all the family. 

“ What have we done } ” cried Bessie, retreat- 
ing, with an air of horror. 

“What is it.?” said the Doctor, raising his 
eyes. 

It was the Colonel’s Opera Cloak ! 

“ The Opera Cloak ! ‘Not Lancelot, nor 
another,’” said Bessie, “but just him, himself. 
I suppose this trunk is his. Perhaps Tom is 
inside.” 

A telegram came a little later : “ Home at 
seven.” 

The tea-table was set in the back parlor. 
The fire-light danced on the walls, and lighted 
up the silver and the pretty china. A dainty 
tea was made ready for Tom. 

A ring at the door. It was his voice, deai 
fellow! How merry and happy he was! 

But who was with him .? 

Leslie St. John I 

“ How lovely ! ” said Bessie, rushing to meet 


226 THE COLONEL’S OPERA CLOAK, 


her. “What a surprised Did your aunt come 
too, and all the boys ? ” 

Leslie looked at Tom in dismay. 

“ Good gracious, mother ! ” cried Tom. “ Bes- 
sie! Everybody! Didn’t you get my letter? 
Didn’t you know I was married?” 

“ Married ! Who are you married to ? ” cried 
little Ned, quite elated. “ Gertrude Henderson ?” 

“To Leslie, of course,” said Tom. “Who 
else could it be?” 

Mrs. Douglas sat down and cried. The Doc- 
tor looked over his glasses. A dead silence fell 
upon them. Leslie was still standing. Tom 
was getting angry. Bessie laughed, — Tom 
blessed her for that, — and ran to Leslie again, 
and kissed her. 

“ Come, Tom, you stupid,” said she, “ take off 
her things. She ’s cold.” 

“ My dear boy,” said Mrs. Douglas, “ we never 
got your letter.” And she went to him, and put 
her arms around his neck. 

“You know it now, mother,” said he. “ Don't 
you see Leslie ? ” 

Poor Mrs. Douglas turned : Leslie’s sweet 
face was wet with tears. 

“ Oh, dear Mrs. Douglas, do love me,” she 
cried: “ I ’ll do just what you tell me.” 

Then Tom’s mother took the girl in her arms, 
— she had always had a tender place, down 


THE COLONEL^S OPERA CLOAK 227 


in her heart, somewhere, for Leslie, — and they 
kissed, and made friends. 

The Doctor was pleased : he had always liked 
her. 

“Come and sit in my chair, my dear,” said he, 
trying to take off her bonnet, in his clumsy man's 
way ; “ you must not wonder, if we seem to be a 
little surprised." 

Leslie threw her arms around him, and cried 
again. 

So they all comforted her, and little Ned cried 
because the others did. 

“ You have an old friend here," said Bessie, 
shaking out the opera cloak as Leslie was lying 
on the sofa after tea, her hand in Mrs. Douglas’s. 
“ It came with the trunk." 

“ Why," cried Leslie, starting up, “ where did 
that come from, Tom } " 

“ I don’t know. Perhaps Pomp packed it up, 
thinking you ’d be cold. I sent a package of 
yours and your trunk here to-day by express." 

Then they had a great laugh ; and Leslie was 
taken into the family joke of the opera cloak, 
and laughed with the rest. 

“ O. C. St. John, Esq., is quite a match-maker," 
said Bessie : “ I wonder if he ’ll help me out." 

The next morning a notice from the dead- 
letter office announced that a letter for Mrs. 
Douglas was held for postage. She sent for it, 


228 THE COLONEL'S OPERA CLOAK. 


and so, rather late in the day, read the important 
announcement of Tom’s marriage. 

Leslie asked to have the letter, to keep. 

The opera cloak was hang up in the lower 
hall. They were going to send it back to the 
Colonel. 

One day it disappeared. It was never seen 
again. 

Whether it was stolen, or whether it saw that 
its mission to the St. John family was accom- 
plished, and went off on an errand of mercy in 
some other field of labor, never was known. But 
this we do know : somewhere, somehow, it yet 
exists. And if you ever happen to meet a blue 
cloak, lined with red, with “ brass knobs ” at the 
neck, — no matter where it is or on whom it is, 
look on it with respect. You know its story. 
It is 

The Colonel’s Opera Cloak. 









I 


✓ 









Far outside the common run of fiction. — Dial, Chicago 


THE WOOD-CARVER 
OF ’LYMPHS 


By M. E. WALLER 

Author of “ A Daughter of the Rich,” etc. 

With frontispiece by Chase Emerson. 12mo. 311 pages. |1.50 

A strong tale of human loves and hopes set in a back- 
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LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers, BOSTON 
At all Booksellers' 


A Masterpiece of Native Humor 


SUSAN CLEGG AND HER 
FRIEND MRS. LATHROP 


By ANNE WARNER 
Author of “A Woman’s Will,” etc. 

With Frontispiece. 227 pages. 12mo. $1.00. 

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LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers, BOSTON 


At all Booksellers' 


A Spell-binding Creation ” — Lilian Whiting 


MYSTERIOUS 
' MR. SABIN 


By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM 
Author of “A Prince of Sinners,” “ Anna the 
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LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers, BOSTON 
At all Booksellers* 


A Wholesome, Merry Love Story 


SWEET PEGGY 


By LINNIE SARAH HARRIS 
Illustrated by Henry J. Peck. 279 pages. 12mo. $1.50. 

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LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers, BOSTON 
At all Booksellers'" 



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